


your soul

by andsmile



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Archie Andrews Needs a Hug, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Pining, Post 2x08, Rating May Change, Rating has changed, Rating will change, Slow Burn, Varchie!Centric, in which Ronnie doesn't say I love you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-02-11 07:11:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 42,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12930141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andsmile/pseuds/andsmile
Summary: Could be more complicated, but it really wasn’t. The girl he loved didn’t feel the same, so he wrote a song about it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my first language (I'm Brazilian), and I don't know anyone that could beta this for me, so I'm sorry for any mistakes.
> 
> Also, I have no idea what I'm doing. I've written a fair amount of fanfiction before, but this is my first try at Riverdale. I know that ArchieRonnie is not the most popular ship, but it's my favorite – hopefully, there are some thirsty #varchie shippers out there that are desperate for some stories with them as the main couple.
> 
> Everything is canon-compliant 'til 2x08. Also, I'm shamelessly using some random pop songs and pretending they are Archie's. The title comes from _Rhodes' "Your Soul"_ , a song that is very important to the fic. You should listen to the acoustic version.

_Well, I never could say,_  
 _I never could say again_  
_What I wanted_  
  
_♪ Young Summer, The Waves That Rolled You Under_

 

 

“Hey, kiddo,” Fred Andrews' voice sounds muffled through the speakerphone. Archie runs around with a toothbrush in his mouth, tired and mostly hungover, trying to get ready. His ride should be there at any time, now. He’s in Memphis, about to play in a big festival with big names, “Heard your song on the radio this morning.”

He sounds as proud as the first time. Archie laughs through a mouthful of toothpaste foam, “You don’t… Wait,” he spits out in the sink, “You don’t have to call me every time you hear it, dad.”

“Oh, that I do,” he jokes back, “Listen, son, I know you’re in the middle of something right now, but as soon as you have the time, there are some things that I wanted to discuss with you. Let me know when you’re back home, maybe you can pay your old man a visit?”

“Yeah, sure, dad,” Archie fixes up his hair and puts on a clean shirt, “I have no idea when I’ll be back, though. The fest here ends in three days, but we’re driving all the way down to Louisiana after that, and I have all those phono sessions scheduled when I go back to New York, so…”

“No need to fret, Archie. But, you know, the business… I’m gonna need your signature on some papers.”

“Do you wanna send them to Lau? She can print them for me, I’m pretty sure I’ll get to see her sooner,” someone honks outside the building, “Shit, dad, that’s probably my ride. I gotta go, okay? I’ll talk to you later.”

 

 

Lau, or Lauren, was his music agent. They practically started careers together, two redheaded tall people. They had slept together a couple of times, back in the _Rockstar_ phase (how his dad used to call _that_ phase), but sometimes Archie thought she looked too much like him and the whole thing made him think about the Blossom twins, an image that was twisted enough to cool things down. She was, ever since, a mix of a best flirty friend and his _mom_ , really. She took care of him and his voice and pushed him endlessly. _You need to record a new EP_ was the first and the last thing she said to him every day.

He needed to record a new EP, this much was true.

His first one, launched two years ago, consisted of ten songs, all variating on the same theme. It didn’t matter since sad songs were the real fuel of the music business, but lately, he’s been on a block. Still, there were only too many concerts he could pull with the same ten songs and a few covers, although his first single was still going strong.

 

 

Could be more complicated, but it really wasn’t. The girl he loved didn’t feel the same, so he wrote a song about it.

 

 

He has forgotten a lot, at this point. Any memory of her lips skimming over his or her fingertips running their course up his stomach are now only things that might have happened that way. Most of the time he doesn’t know if he remembers what has really happened or if he remembers made up memories on his brain. Maybe a little bit of both.

It feels like a million years, now.

He's sung the song a million times, now.

In the early months, he would almost cry as he performed it in those unexceptional gigs, _almost_ being the imperative word. During the Rockstar phase, he’d sing it to other girls, changing lyrics to suit them, in a meaningless effort to get under their sheets, and then he stopped singing it altogether, because it was already on the radio, an endless looping reminder of how his broken heart was the only thing that took him anywhere.

 

 

( _Well_ , more like Cheryl Blossom felt she owed him one and knew someone who knew someone, and suddenly Archie had four months of studio time to be miserable somewhere else than the corridors of Riverdale High.)

Point is, the song he wrote when Veronica Lodge didn’t love him as much, didn’t love him at all, was the one that put his name out there, the one that got him out of Riverdale to acoustic performances in the Midwest and then to New York, the one that set him in the same tour bus to open much better musicians’ concerts, the one that gave him an emerging songwriter award.

He supposes he should thank her for that, one day.

 

 

(He did thank her for that, one day. Not his finest moment, but probably his most honest one.

He was drunk and sad and pissed. She looked so beautiful in her bridesmaid dress, _so beautiful_ wearing her pearls around her head like a halo.

He didn’t think about it anymore.)

 

 

“You need to record a new EP,” Lauren says immediately when he opens the door, “And you look like shit.”

“You’d look like shit if you spent 9 hours on a bus,” he replies, aware that he does look tired. Tours were fun, but they were also very hard work, and normally he got home spent. And he wasn’t even the type of singer that _performed_ , really; he was a just another guy with a guitar and another sad story. Touring had him acquire a whole new respect for Justin Bieber. “And I missed you too.”

She smiles, hugging him for a moment, “How did it go?”

“It was amazing, actually,” he makes space for her to come inside his loft, “I can’t believe I finally got to visit Memphis.”

“Yeah, I had a pretty good time when I first went. Did you get to see Elvis’ house?”

“Went with some of the guys, yeah,” she arches one eyebrow, and he rolls his eyes, “Okay, went with a girl.”

“That’s more like it, Casanova. Did she _inspire_ you?”

He laughs despite himself. The girl was just a random girl, but Archie was, most and foremost, a good guy, and he thought the right thing to do after having sex was at least going out on a date with them and try to get to know them better, “Well, I don’t know. I did try out some chords.”

Her smile got bigger, “Yes! You go, Memphis! Let me hear it.”

“Not yet, it’s too rough,” he says. She looks exasperated, “C’mon, Lau, give me a break here, I’m _trying_. It doesn’t work that way.”

“I’m giving you a break for the past couple of years, Archibald. _Try harder_ ,” she sighs, “Okay, you have phono tomorrow at a quarter to ten. I’ll come pick you up. What are you doing today?”

He’s a little annoyed, but he knows she has his best interest at heart. He wishes she understood that it wasn’t that easy. He didn’t wanna be Adele, singing about the same ex for the rest of his life, he was supposed to be better than that, “Just laundry, I guess.”

“Take your guitar with you,” she kisses the side of his head quickly, something she does every time she’s a little angry with him. It reminds him of Betty’s condescending reprimands. “I have to go, I’m supposed to meet Bruce for brunch in fifteen. Oh,” she stops and opens up the maxi bag she was carrying, and hands in a big brown envelope, “I forgot. Your dad sent me those papers for you to sign. You need to…”

“Record a new EP. Got it, Lau.”

She smiles at him before leaving the apartment, and Archie is left with an envelope he discards on the kitchen counter and the feeling that he is, again, _failing_.

 

 

Archie had to give up football in his senior year, when his dad had a heart attack (about two years after that fucking serial killer) and doctors encouraged him to take a test since the condition was apparently genetic. The test came out positive, and Archie’s future as an athlete was compromised. Exercising wasn’t ruled out, though – he still needed to workout three or four times a week, and to take water pills before bed.

The upsetting part wasn’t giving up football, or college. Business school would take him back to Riverdale and Andrews Construction and even though Archie really knew nothing, the one thing he was always sure of was that he didn’t want to live his father’s life. He didn’t need football or school to become a singer or a songwriter. He just needed his voice and his words.

The upsetting part was knowing that his broken heart wasn’t just figurative. That it could really kill him one day. Somehow, it felt like he failed. With a girl that wouldn’t love him, with a heart that didn’t work, with a father that he couldn’t save, with a man that he didn’t want to become.

Most of the time, Archie forgot he had HCM. It was just one of those things that he had to deal with, like eating vegetables in every other meal or Lau’s moods swings. It did prevent him from going full spiral during the Rockstar phase. Sometimes, though, when he tires too much after weight lifting or singing a long note, it gets him thinking that he can’t be truly good at anything.

He hits the gym and then spends the whole afternoon in the laundromat, because he was a successful singer, but not at all a rich one, and walking back to his loft with a heavy bag of clean (though not pressed) clothes gets him extra tired. He lays down on his couch, heavy breathing for a while, and falls asleep that way.

 

 

His phone startles him awake about half an hour later, and he declines the call when he sees it’s his dad. He’s not in the mood to tell anyone about his day, since, as days go, this was incredibly uneventful, pending to the crappy side of the spectrum, and recapitulating it seems like a huge waste of time.

Archie checks his texts. There is one from Lau _so, how is that new EP going?_ that he answers with a skull emoji, some in the tour group chat he doesn’t bother reading, and one from Betty asking if he’s back to New York already. He smiles softly at her avatar, a picture of her and their new rescue dog, Nancy, and replies, _yep. Come see me?? x_

Betty and Jughead have been living in Philadelphia for the past four months now. They’ve moved when Betty got a job as an editor in the Northeast Times, and Jug decided he could write his young adult angst anywhere. That left Archie alone in the East Village loft and in New York City.

He screws around his phone, pointlessly checking his social media. His last post on Twitter, _it’s been a wild ride!_ and a picture of him besides the tour bus had reached almost four thousand retweets. He scrolls down his Instagram feed, likes some pictures, Val looking as beautiful as ever on a stage; Lau and her boyfriend Bruce at brunch that same morning; Betty, Jughead, and Nancy looking like a little family, spending their morning in a park.

And a certain @v.lodge, at the Hamptons, kneeling on a bright yellow beach towel and looking away. He couldn’t see anything but the sand and the blue skies around her, and she’s wearing sunglasses and a striped black and white bathing suit. Her skin looks almost golden in the sunlight, and her dark hair is damp. The caption reads _Beach in May? I need a little sunshine_.

Archie doesn’t like her picture because that would be weird. He only _follows_ her because she did it first, when they were seemingly _friends again_ , although being friends meant coexisting in the same city (all the way up the 3rd Avenue, almost a straight line from his place to the Upper East Side) without ever talking to each other, especially after Betty and Jughead moved.

He stares at the picture for a while, and the lines form in his mind, coming from nowhere. _I see you under blue skies, I need a little sunshine._

Archie curses himself, refusing to get inspired in that precise moment, and closes the app.

 

 

Fred Andrews calls again, but Archie thinks _later_ , throwing his phone somewhere on the couch.

 

 

 

_tbc_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, what's going on with Fred? Also, pining!Archie might be my favorite. The HCM thing I shamelessly copied from One Tree Hill, but it serves a purpose. This is cross-posted on FF.Net. Loved it? Hated it? Let me know (:


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thanks for the response! I was really happy with all the comments and kudos I’ve got!
> 
> Hopefully, you’ll like this second chapter. It’s a bit of a slow burn here, but don’t give up. This is still canon-compliant, even after 2x08, which was way sadder than I thought it would be, but let’s stay strong. As Juggie said, "Varchie became the opposite of death", so let's have faith!
> 
> I now have a plan and a solid storyline for this fanfic, so the chapters might be longer.

_It's been a few years, and I've moved on_  
_Couldn't make it disappear,_  
_I tried so hard to be strong_

_♪ EDEN, Crash._

 

 

_I see you under blue skies, I need a little sunshine._

Archie writes it down for good measure because it sounds better than anything else his brain produced in the last few months. The blue ink doesn’t stand out in the brown paper of the envelope his dad sent him, the one that’s still unopened on his kitchen counter. He doesn’t dare try out chords to go with the line.

When his phono sessions are done for the week, and Lau’s boyfriend manages to take her away, Archie grabs his guitar and steps on a train headed to Philadelphia.

He’s been back in New York for five days, and it’s claustrophobic.

 

 

 

The first time Archie visited New York City, was on a field trip in eighth grade. His mom found some time in her long work hours to pack him a lunch and some snacks; Mrs. Cooper drove him and Betty to the school and kissed them both goodbye; Betty saved a place for him next to her on the bus, and he sat with her for a while, they both sharing headphones and listening to music, until Reggie Mantle demanded he’d sit with the boys at the back.

(Sometimes, when Archie thinks back on those days, he thinks _stupid, you were so stupid_ ; how did he not notice that his parents’ marriage was falling apart? How did he not notice that Jughead couldn’t go on that field trip, or to _any_ field trip? How did he not notice Ms. Grundy touching those fourteen-year old’s shoulders, or Betty’s gloomy expression when he naively pushed her away?)

 

 

The dream of living in the city came before Veronica, but her confidence, her musky, deep perfume and her high heels clicking down Riverdale’s sidewalks, just amplified it. At some point, Archie couldn’t see himself anywhere else, so when his heart forced him to slow down and his song hit the charts, the first thing he did was pack his guitar and look for a place to rent in East Village, and the dream came true.

Except Jughead wasn’t his roommate, since he disappeared in junior year after FP’s second arrest, and only a few months later Archie learned that Gladys Jones had found out all about that gangster shit, and took him to Ohio.

Except Betty wasn’t Veronica’s roommate either, since Veronica also left Riverdale in the middle of their senior year, and the whole fortress that once had been B & V fell into amicable silence, at least for a while.

What he got wasn’t his perfect case scenario, the one he would dream of in his childhood bedroom while Veronica laid her head on his chest and he ran his fingers through her raven, soft hair, but he did get something. He got the bright lights and the tall buildings and Betty, yes, she moved as well, straight to Columbia’s dorms, and there was only the two of them again as if nothing had ever happened; as if things had never changed.

 

 

It was probably a miracle, or maybe a stroke of luck, that he and Betty never became a couple after the way things fell intensely apart.

Undoubtedly, everybody was expecting it. Betty and Archie, living in the same city? It should be natural, _of course_. He thought about it himself, numerous times, especially when he was chosen to be her date at all her freshmen year parties and events. Especially when he had a little too much to drink, or when he was too bitter over the past not to notice _oh, look, a beautiful girl who actually loved me_.

But it was never more than wishful thinking. Betty didn’t love him anymore, not like that, at least, and as disappointed and angry with Jughead as he was, he would never do that. He would also never do that to _her_ , he didn’t want to have any sort of power in his hands that could ever hurt her again, so he usually let the thought slip his mind until it got easier and easier and then inexistent.

 

 

He was living in New York for a year when Jughead knocked on his door, no beanie, no leather jacket, and no excuses, just honest apologies. Archie’s eyes got damp from the sight of his old friend standing in front of him, and his world was instantly lighter, like a huge weight he didn’t even know he was carrying around was finally removed from his shoulders. Jughead was ready to fight for his forgiveness but it was already there; it never went anywhere.

It wasn’t long, although longer, till Jughead won Betty’s heart back, and even if Archie often thought that he and Betty were the _status quo_ of it all, seeing his friends together again was like finding a missing piece from an incomplete puzzle.

 

 

Seeing Veronica again, however, a few months after Betty and Jughead rekindled, was like stepping on that puzzle and messing it all up.

 

 

Archie _knew_ she lived in New York when he moved and didn’t care. He didn’t look for her while singing in front of the MET steps in spring, didn’t turn his head at every glimpse of a petite girl with raven hair, and didn’t ask Betty anything when she let it slip that they were trying to be friends again (and succeeding).

For a year, it didn’t matter, even if most songs he was playing around the city were about her, even if everything he wrote was about _that_ specific heartbreak, it just wasn’t important.

But then he saw her again, after reassuring Betty a million times that it would be _fine_ if she invited Veronica to her birthday dinner, after asking the girl he was seeing for a couple of weeks to be his date in said dinner. He saw her again and it was like the first time, that laughable idea that maybe the Earth changed its rotation axis just because they were in the same room, breathing the same damn air.

Archie was then used to people greeting him and congratulating him on the new EP, but Veronica just hugged him briefly, said hello in a voice that was so quiet and unlike her, a voice she reserved for him after their break up, and acknowledged his date with a smile and a compliment. “It’s been a while, Archiekins,” she said before leaving towards other familiar faces, and all Archie could think was _who the hell do you think you are?_

He took the girl back to his loft and fucked her against a wall, grabbing handfuls of brown hair between his fingers. In the morning, spent and hungover, he checked his phone to find that his Instagram account had a new follower.

Archie followed her back, God knows why, and then there it was. A daily, filtered proof that she walked the same streets as him, happy as one could be.

 

 

 

Nancy greets him first, a little ball of caramel fur reaching up to his knees, and he kneels so he can rub her neck and ears. “Hey, little one,” he smiles and hears Jughead’s chuckle somewhere in the room.

“I told you, Betts. Everybody does it.”

“What?” Archie gets up reluctantly, missing the times he still had Vegas. Betty smiles as she hugs him, her vanilla scent taking him to a good place.

“Juggie is trying to convince me that _everybody_ talks with a baby voice to a dog.”

“Did I do it?” he laughs, kneeling again so Nancy can get more of his attention, _“Did I do it?_ ” he repeats to her, purposely changing his voice.

“It’s an inevitability,” Jughead says. Archie looks up to smile at him, finding him sitting on the large couch and wearing prescription glasses on his face, looking a little bit like Harry Potter. There’s a movie paused on the television.

“How was the tour?” Betty asks, finally closing the door behind them. “I saw a clip on Youtube, I can’t believe you played for so many people!”

“Yeah, me neither,” he gets up when Nancy finally gets bored of him and takes off towards her chewed plastic toys. Archie looks around the apartment, which was almost empty the last time he’s visited and smiles at how it’s starting to shape up in a perfect combination of his two best friends’ personalities, almost out of a hipster vintage dream, “It was crazy. We _have_ to go to some of those cities together, though, it’s not just music, there’s a lot of history too. I’m sure you’d find something to write about, Jug.”

“Have you found something to write about, Arch?”, Betty teases him from the kitchen, getting some wine glasses from the cupboard.

“Well,” he thinks about the words he wrote in his dad’s envelope, thinks about Veronica’s golden skin under the sunlight, and sighs, “Not really. But that’s just my lazy ass, I’m sure Jug would make us prouder.”

“Well,” Jughead gets up and taps him on the shoulder, on his way to the kitchen to help his girlfriend open the wine, “Someone’s gotta work in this family.”

 

 

They work their way through three bottles of wine, and Betty falls asleep on the couch while he’s playing something that could be nothing at all on his guitar, a little drunker than he thought he would be after all those music festivals.

“I should take this one to bed,” Jughead announces, and his voice sounds a lot like his father’s when he drinks. Betty says something when he carries her, _walk Nancy_ and _jingle-jangle_ , words muffled in the crook of his neck, and Archie snorts at the scene. Drunk Betty was his always favorite, “You’ll be good here, man?”

“All good, Jug. Goodnight.”

“Night,” he opens the bedroom’s door with his hip and Betty mumbles that _we should get tacos_. Jughead winks at him before closing the door again, and Archie is left with a sleepy Nancy and an uninspiring set of chords in his fingers.

He’s _not_ singing about that again.

 

 

He wakes up before anyone, the next morning, only because the living room still doesn’t have curtains and the sunlight hits him straight in the eyes. He pulls a pillow over his face and stays like that until Nancy is nudging his feet and barking the lowest of barks, probably hungry.

Archie gets up to feed her, only half alive, but not as hungover as expected. He pours some food on her plate, and then some more, because Betty’s recommended scoop seems too little for a dog, and pats her head. He washes his hands, fills a glass with water and drinks everything in one big gulp.

He’s about to find coffee when his phone buzzes right off the table as if it was ringing for a while and he didn’t notice. Luckily, there’s a fluffy carpet underneath the table, so it doesn’t break. Archie frowns when he sees there is about a dozen missed calls from Lauren and then some more.

The phone rings again when he’s staring at it.

“Yeah?”

He expects the whole _You have to record a new EP_ from his agent, but all he gets is a voice that’s three tones lower than usual.

“Archie, where are you?”

“I’m in Philadelphia with Betty and Jughead for the weekend,” he feels something stiffing his muscles, something he can’t quite grasp yet, “Is everything okay?”

“You need to go home now, Arch.”

“Lau – I can’t go to New York right now, I’m –”

“Not New York. _Riverdale_. I’ll buy you a ticket, you have to –”

“Wha – What’s going on Lau? What are you talking about?”

His phone starts ringing again as he speaks, and his jaw clenches when he sees who’s calling him. He doesn’t answer. He can’t answer, he – “Why is my mom calling me?”

His friend takes a deep breath, and Archie tries to replicate it, but he can’t find it in him to pull the air into his lungs, “Arch, it’s your dad,” Lau says very quietly. His phone keeps buzzing as his mom is trying to call him, Nancy still chews her food in the kitchen, he didn’t close the tap properly, so he can hear drop after drop against the sink, “He’s – I’m so sorry, Arch.”

 

 

tbc

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Waaaat  
> I’m so sorry too.  
> This chapter, I wanted to give you a bit of a flashback about what happened in the past, but there is still a lot to explain. I know you want Archie and Ronnie to interact, but well, Archie has other (big) problems right now. Leave me a comment if you like it okay? In these dark times, we have to hold on to each other haha. Sorry for any mistakes, English is not my first language!
> 
> \-- Vik


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is an angst fest. The songs Archie plays here are “Sweetest Kill”, by Broken Social Scene, and “I’ll Try”, by Archie himself!
> 
> Thank you so much for the comments, they mean the world to me!

Fred Andrews had been to Riverdale’s General Hospital three times.

 

 

The first one was in that cruel, cathartic year. There was snow melting in the driveway and there was blood everywhere, running through the hole on his stomach, spattered on the seats, red, warm, metallic scented blood. Archie remembered very little from that day, a hurricane of emotions that he wasn’t ready to fit into his young heart: the smile he kissed on Veronica’s lips, the great _bliss_ all around his body as he remembered the night he spent tangled up with her, the terrifying sight of those green eyes under that hood, _freezing_.

The sounds, _those_ he did remember. Skin being ripped apart by a _bullet_ , the bell when the door swung open, the wheels scratching the pavement, the _beeps_ in the hospital, Betty’s soft _Arch_ when he called her and told her with his hands shaking, Veronica’s heels cackling as she walked straight to him with open arms.

He was so young and afraid, the first time, and the embrace his two best friends and his girlfriend gave him was the only thing that kept him from collapsing.

 

The second time was different. It was almost a still moment, virtually no movement, and Archie remembered every step of it. The summer of his eighteenth birthday was just around the corner; the birds were chirping amongst the trees, and he was composing like never before. Fred was unusually quiet that morning. Archie was sitting in the kitchen, and his dad was making breakfast while he tried out some chords and sang softly, _all the time, we get by, trying to figure out our lives_ , searching for something to complete these verses, when Fred hissed in pain with a hand on his left arm.

He drove fast but carefully, following the instructions 911 gave him. The doctors took his dad away down the same corridor he left bloody footprints, roughly two years before.

Betty handed him a crappy cup of coffee, took a seat next to him and pressed her head into his shoulder as they waited for the doctors to say something. He didn’t call his mom immediately, and there was no one else to call. Jughead was gone, Veronica too, so he rested his cheek on Betty’s forehead and waited, and finished the lyrics in his mind,

_like a fade out._

(His dad would be okay; his heart didn’t work properly; they had to run some tests; maybe Archie should check it too; _oh, look,_ it’s broken as well.)

 

 

The third time, his father died, and the last thing Archie said to him was _later._

 

Like a fade out.

 

 

 

Everything inside of him is falling apart, yet, he feels somewhat detached from the whole situation like it is happening to someone else.

Betty, his forever constant, runs her fingers through his hair and mumbles some comforting words, _we’re here, Arch_ , and he could feel Jughead’s hand on his shoulder, in a firm grip, and Archie knows he too was hurting, he too had lost a father.

Mary ( _née_ Andrews) is there, clearly handling the situation with merit. He thinks, for a second, that maybe he hates her, before deciding he can’t grasp anything but pain, slamming him again and again, his chest heavy as if it was set on fire.

 

 

His mother takes care of all the impending questions. They all sit together around the dining table in his childhood’s house, and Mary slowly explains everything to Lauren. It’s all sorted out, she says. The funeral would be in five days. Fred should be buried in his _kilt_ , he was very proud of his Scottish ascendance, and Archie should wear one too. They will have to deal with hospital bills at some point, and she didn’t have access to the details of Fred’s life, maybe it’s wise to wait until Archie gets back on his feet, so he could tackle this.

At some point, Archie can’t listen anymore, so he decides to sit down in the living room with Betty and Jughead, who look as disheveled as he feels. He sits between his two best friends again, just like he did at the hospital, and Betty touches his shoulder, asks, “What can we do for you, Arch?”

“I just want to be alone,” he says, quietly, and his voice sounds foreign to his ears.

Archie’s not looking at them, but he feels Betty open her mouth, probably to say that _he shouldn’t be alone_ and then feels Jughead interrupt her with his eyes, “It’s okay, Archie. We’ll go, okay?”

He nods, grateful. Jughead kisses the side of his head for a long moment, a hand squeezing firmly his shoulder, and Archie feels his eyes prickling with tears that he fights against.

“We love you,” Jug says against his hair, probably on the verge of tears himself, and then gets up. Betty inhales deeply, exhales slowly, does this a couple of times, as if she was trying to control her breathing, but then follows her boyfriend’s lead, kissing Archie’s forehead and reassuring him that they’ll be next door if he needs anything.

 _I’ll talk to you later_ , he said to his father, over the phone, and he couldn’t even remember what day it was, or what time it was, or what shirt he was wearing. His father called him and asked him to come, asked him to be there, exactly where he was, in their house in Riverdale, and he said _later_.

Archie curls up in his old bed, burying his face on the pillowcase, and cries himself to sleep.

 

 

The next few days are more or less the same, passing him by without notice. His mother wakes him up around ten, with breakfast on a tray, kisses his cheek and says something he can’t compute, something about flowers and appetizers and living room. Around noon Betty and Jughead show up, with lunch and baked goods, and they stay with Archie until it’s late in the evening. Betty spends a good amount of time talking to someone on the phone, away from them, and Jug says something about her boss, but Archie can’t bring himself to care.

He spends most of his time lying on the couch, listening to Jughead’s fingers typing words on his laptop, some movie playing on the TV. Lauren was designated to help his mom organize the funeral, so she’s just home around dinner time, and the five of them eat on the dining room table, talking about all things that could not be less important.

Archie doesn’t recall speaking during those days; or even _breathing_ , for all that matters. This wasn’t his life, and he was disconnected from his body, watching it unfold from the sidelines.

 

His mom approaches him carefully, the night before the funeral, and sits down on the edge of his bed, “Will you sing tomorrow, sweetheart?”

 _Sing what_ , he thinks, bitter. What would he sing about? His troubled teenage love life? The sad song he wrote while his father was recovering from a heart attack? A cover from the band Fred and FP were in before Fred helped send him to a path of no return? Or maybe the song their parents danced to in their senior prom, before finding out they were never really in love with each other, anyway?

He must have an exasperated expression on his face, because Mary sits up straighter, and her voice is firmer when she speaks again, “I think your father would have wanted that.”

Archie sighs. What does she know about what his father would have wanted? What does _Archie_ know? A family, that’s what he wanted. A wife, a wife that loved him, that didn’t leave him hanging, and a son, a _good son_ , one that would call or _be there_ and take over his lifelong work, that’s all Fred had ever wanted. And instead, he got divorce papers and a “ _later”,_ dying alone in that house.

“Yeah, I’ll do it,” he says, in a voice that doesn’t sound like his own. He just agrees because she wouldn’t leave without putting up a fight, and his heart skips a beat when she smiles and touches his face, thanking him.

The little boy inside of him wants his mom to take him in her arms and hold him until his tears are dry, and he knows that Mary could do that, that all he had to do was take the first step, but he asks to be alone, so she leaves, unable to see whatever could be hiding underneath.

Maybe they’re much more alike than Archie thinks they are.

 

 

The wake would be held in a manse behind Riverdale’s only church, a Presbyterian fieldstone building near the Town Hall.

Archie drives slowly through the streets of his hometown, wearing a kilt as expected; his mother dressed in black at his side, Lauren on the backseat and Archie can see her from the rear-view mirror, looking like a part of his family with her red hair tied up carefully in a bun. She helped his mom organize everything. Archie wishes he could repay her somehow, wishes she didn’t look so tired.

When they get there, the church is empty except for the closed coffin placed on a stand covered with an emerald tablecloth, and the funeral director, a bald man who greets his mother and Lau as old friends, shakes Archie’s hand and offers his condolences, discussing the arrangements briefly with them.

“Seventy-three people RSVP’d,” the mortician tells them. Archie looks around and sees all these empty chairs facing the coffin, “So when two-thirds have arrived, we can start the ceremony. The minister will say his prayers, ask…” he looks down the file he’s been holding, “ _Jughead_ Jones, is that right? To speak some words, and then you, Archie, can come up and sing your song, or say something if you’d like. How does that sound?”

“Yeah,” Archie shrugs. He wants to stop looking at the coffin, but he can’t. He keeps thinking if his dad is not suffocating inside of it, like he is with that burgundy tie around his neck, “Can we… Can we open the…?”

“ _Oh,_ you’d like to see him. Of course, son.”

 

People arrive slowly, walking up to the coffin, people Archie had never seen before, hugging him, his mother and Jughead, who had been at his side since arriving with Betty. All these people say they’re sorry, and Archie nods and appreciates, but can’t help but notice the horrified look veiled in their faces when they look at Fred’s body. Archie can’t say if he’s not wearing the same look _himself_ , every time he catches his dad’s peaceful, plasticized face on his peripheral vision.

There are people he’s seen, too. People he has grown up with. Pop Tate is crying. Mrs. Cooper holds him so tightly it suffocates him a little, and despite their differences, Archie can see she is truly sorry. The same goes for Mayor McCoy, who is no longer mayor, and Sheriff Keller, who is also no longer sheriff, “Kevin couldn’t come, Archie, but he sent you his love.”

Archie nods, wishing Kevin was there. Wishing more people from his time were there. He wanted to see Reggie, Moose, Trev, Dilton; he wanted to see the Pussycats and Valerie’s big blue eyes, _hell_ , he wanted to see Cheryl, all the people that once supported him. But his old friends were gone, they’d all left Riverdale, just like he did. They’d all have to come back to bury their parents.

 

When the room is full enough, the funeral director instructs them to take a seat in the front row. The minister begins his lecture, reciting a few Bible passages, and talking a little about how Fred Andrews was an example to the community, a brave, working man, who would now find the peace of the just beside God. They pray, and Archie prays with them, same prayers his father taught him when he was little. He thinks back to the times he used those words to beg for stupid things: not failing a test, receiving the gift he wanted for Christmas.

The minister calls up Jughead, who was also wearing a kilt and a tie. Some people laughed briefly at his name. Betty held Archie’s hand into hers, as Jug started speaking, “My real name is even worse, don’t worry,” he begins with a small grin, unfolding a piece of paper,

“I was chosen to write this eulogy because I am a writer, but I was suddenly out of words to explain why Fred Andrews was, possibly, the best man I’ve ever met. I was only ten years old when he opened his door for me for the first time, a door that was never closed again, not even in the darkest of times. It hasn’t been so long since those days, most of you should remember them well, and when I found myself abandoned with nowhere to go or no one to turn, Fred Andrews was there, calm and brave and gentle, a steady point in the storm that was surrounding us. He was more my father than anyone,” Jughead’s voice breaks a little, at this point. Archie feels something in his throat, and Betty holds his hand tighter, “And his courage and his humanity is something that I hope I can teach to my children one day, just like Fred taught  his son.”

 

 

When the minister calls him, Archie is not sure his feet are the ones leading him up there. He’d prepared himself to play _Tears in Heaven_ because that would be generic and sad enough, but maybe Jughead was a very good writer, because his speech made Archie feel something again, something that he hadn’t felt yet. He clears his throat, guitar in his arms, “I have never been that good at talking,” he says, looking down. The last time he was on a stage was very different than this one, “But when I found out I was passable at singing, my father stood by me, and not once letting me lose focus of my dreams,” he breathes in, “This is the first song my dad heard me singing.”

He sings _I’ll try_ , but no one in that church knew he didn’t try hard enough.

 

 

There's no applause once he’s done; maybe is not appropriated. He takes a deep breath and looks up his audience. Everybody seems to be crying somehow – Betty is sobbing quietly, with Jughead’s arm around her shoulders; his mom blowing her nose with a napkin. He scatters the faces he knows and the faces he doesn’t know, and now that he’s stopped singing, his throat is aching again, and he feels it tighten when his gaze reaches the last rows and he sees her there.

Veronica Lodge.

 

 

_tbc_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: finally some interaction!  
> This one was painful to write. Hopefully, you'll stick with me.  
> (no, I haven't forgotten about the envelope Archie left in NY; we will see it again)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sad I didn't get any comments in my last update, but anyway :( Hope you're still around. Thank you for the kudos!
> 
> I waited until 2x09 aired to write this chapter (so I could play with canon a little bit), but this fanfic still ignores everything post 2x08. 
> 
> I AM SO HAPPY THEY MADE UP! Their break up was pretty dumb to be honest (but it did give them another depth of angst <3), and they were so adorable all throughout the episode, so sweet. Archie didn’t even really kiss Betty back and he gave that cheesy necklace to Veronica! Yes! Now I can come back to my angst with a lighter heart lol.
> 
> There's a bit of backstory in the beginning of the chapter, and then it picks up from the point the last chapter ended! Still slow burn folks, hang in there.

_I had all and then most of you_  
_Some and now none of you_  
_Take me back to the night we met_

_  
♪ Lord Huron, The Night We Met_

 

_Meet me outside? V._

The text arrived on Christmas’ day of their senior year, and it surprised him. They had been broken up for two years, at that point, almost eight times more months than they’d spent together, and had no reason at all to talk since they weren’t even friends anymore.

After Veronica left him in a parking lot at the wrong side of the town with his heart throbbing on his chest, the dynamics of Archie’s life changed a lot. Not only his relationship was over (and he was reminded of that time after time when he couldn’t buy her a Christmas’ gift or couldn’t call her when he was upset or touch her whenever he wanted), but Jughead and Betty’s too. That meant Jug started avoiding the north side almost completely, only swinging by at Pop’s when Betty was not there, always with his serpent friends beside him. Archie felt the need to take Betty's side in all that mess, because what Jughead was doing was just so dangerous and stupid, and Archie didn’t have it in him to fight it anymore.

(Archie and Betty had conversations about it, but none of them had answered the real questions: since when loving someone was supposed to push them away? Since when finally latching on to a feeling had been bursting through their skin was meant to have such a painful outcome?)

So, the following years of high school were just _different_. He started to spend more time with Betty as Veronica started to spend less and less time with her, and once in a while Archie wondered if that happened because she thought there was something going on between them (times that made him feel something coil inside of him, something like courage to pull Veronica into an empty classroom and say _c’mon, how can you think that, I chose you_ ), but no one ever said anything. Cheryl bought him studio time in Greendale, apparently thanking him for saving her life on that snowy day, so he spent most part of his summer before junior year writing, recording, and going to Pop’s with Betty, Kevin and Moose like they’d jumped the last months of their lives.

FP Jones had been arrested again, that summer; Archie heard it on the news. The Southside Serpents were involved in a lot of illegal shit and the feds were investigating a bigger scheme, concerning more important people. He called Jughead for the first time in months, but the number he had on his contacts was disconnected, and Archie felt a lot of things, anger, and bitterness and worry, but he focused on being a good friend to Betty, driving her to therapy, holding her when she cried, until he felt nothing at all.

He had seen Veronica every school day for two years. He had seen Veronica in her black dresses and purple miniskirts (unfair), in her pumps and in her sneakers, in beautiful, sparkly gowns; he had seen Veronica in her Vixens uniform (really unfair) and with her Pussycat ears blending into her raven hair. He had seen her dating Reggie for a solid part of that school year until they weirdly fell apart in the Homecoming dance, a few weeks before.

But he had not seen her name in his cellphone, not since the _almost there!_ and a yellow heart emoji she'd sent him two years earlier, before arriving in the White Wyrm, before breaking up with him because she didn’t love him.

“Hey,” he frowned when he saw her at his front porch, looking as perfect as always, “Merry Christmas,” he said, still unsure, closing the door behind him. It was cold outside, but his dad was in the living room, and they probably couldn’t go up to his bedroom to talk without it being awkward.

“Merry Christmas,” she offered him a small, sincere smile. Archie focused on not letting his heart hurt – he was over her, had been for more than a year, now, “I know this is strange.”

“It’s a little weird, yeah,” he grinned a little too, in spite of everything. She was looking down, then, and Archie studied her face, catching up some imperfections; there was no lipstick on her lips, no little eyeliner wings framing her eyes, and she looked tired. He felt his brow crease, “Are you okay?”

“I suppose,” she said, and then sighed, “I’m leaving Riverdale, Archie.”

Her words took a bit to sink in. Archie felt his stomach twisting, burning, and leaving a bad taste in his mouth; afraid he’d thrown up if he opened it, he just kept looking at her.

“My parents. They – they are getting divorced,” she kept on talking after noticing he had a quiet reaction, “Things are ugly between them, between all of us. My mom is ready to fight for her share of Lodge Industries and I’m caught up in this stupid crossfire, and I –” her lower lip trembled when she paused, “I am going to live with my aunt back in New York.”

He couldn’t say anything, so she continued, “I just came to say goodbye. I didn’t want to… Disappear, you know. Like...”

 _Like Jughead_ , she didn't say. Archie nodded, still frowning, not ready for all the feelings that were boiling up on his chest after spending so much time in undisturbed apathy.

Her brown eyes were glossed. A part of Archie wanted to pick her up in his arms, to say he was going to protect her, to hold her endlessly and forget about the last two years of their lives, but he couldn’t, couldn’t listen to it. His body felt heavy like he was back at that parking lot, and he couldn't do it, couldn't wrangle it.

She lifted one hand and touched his face, running her thumb down his cheek, towards his jawline, and Archie’s arm moved to catch her hand in his, an action that had her a little surprised. He swallowed hard, squeezing her fingers between his, and all he wanted (needed) to do was duck down his head and kiss her, but did he really? Would he really take that chance?

She must have seen the doubt in his eyes, because she smiled again, warmly, and pulled her hand back to herself, “I’ll see you, Archiekins.”

 

 

 

Veronica’s not looking at him.

She’s actually staring at her hands, both resting on her lap, one of them intertwined with another hand – her mother’s, Archie notes – and her shoulders move up and down slowly, following the rhythm of her breath.

The minister thanks him for the touching performance, and he looks away, going back to his seat next to Betty and his mother, both giving him heartening looks with sad, damp eyes, and he realizes he’s short of breath, loosening up his tie around his neck.

 

Archie doesn’t speak for a while. The service ends with a prayer. He asks, quietly, if his mother can drive to the cemetery, giving her the car keys and throwing himself in the backseat. The drive there is way too short. The coffin is closed when he sees it again, never to be reopened, and he holds one of its handles with shaky hands, clasping the cold metal as hard as he can, Jughead grasping the other side.

He doesn’t look at Veronica one more time, but he can _feel_ her, senses her eyes on the side of his face as he carries his father’s coffin to the sepulture, aware she is moving with the crowd, holding her mother’s arm, a flash of black somewhere in his peripheral vision.

They say goodbye to Fred Andrews with a handful of dirt tossed to his grave, and Archie can feel the air shifting. Something has changed, like his soul is coming back to his body, bit by bit, and then abruptly.

The weight of it is unbearable, and he sinks his knees in the wet grass, crying.

 

 

 

No one mentions his breakdown, but Betty decides to ride back with him and not with Jughead. They go together in the backseat as Mary drives, and Betty holds his hand so tightly it almost hurts, only letting it go when they arrive home and he says he wants to take a shower before the guests arrive for the reception.

Archie feels filthy, and all the sympathetic eyes on him as he goes up the stairs don’t help.

 

After a particularly long shower, he changes into his nice denim, the one Lauren packed for him in New York, and scatters his old wardrobe for something dark, finding a grey t-shirt and a charcoal cardigan, and they’re both a little bit worn, but that will have to do, since he has nothing in black. He throws his grass-stained clothes in the laundry basket, dries his hair with a towel while looking idly out his window, and contemplates lying down for the longest time, but ultimately decides to go back downstairs, because he doesn’t want his mom and friends _worrying_ about him.

Someone – probably Lauren – had the living and the dining room ready for their guests, with beautiful flower arrangements all around, and food plates resting over counters and tables. He imagines not all seventy-three people that attended the wake are gonna come, but a good part is already there, chatting in a low voice about God knows what, whiskey and wine glasses on their hands. He scans the room looking for familiar faces, but he only finds Betty, who is talking to his mother, he doesn’t want to deal with them and their concerned looks just yet.

He goes down the stairs unnoticed and heads to the kitchen, where it seems to be less movement, hoping to maybe come across Jug or Lauren, but he stops dead in his tracks at the door when he sees Veronica, trying to reach something in a cupboard that is way too tall for her, even in her four inches heels.

“Can…” he starts, but his voice sounds feeble, so clears up his throat, “Can I help you?”

She turns around, somewhat startled, but her expression softens when she realizes it’s him. Her lips are painted in a deep plum shade and they twist up as she chuckles, perhaps a little embarrassed.

“I can’t reach the coffee,” she indicates the cupboard, and he’s amazed that she remembers where they used to keep their groceries, “Betty asked me to brew some.”

“Oh.”

It’s all he can really say. His heart is thumping in the base of his throat, and he touches his neck as if he could grab it with his fingers and snap it out his body. Archie’s mind races back through time, and he remembers finding her in that same kitchen, when they were sixteen, and holding her in his arms for the first time as she cried for her father. He also remembers _his_ father’s hand heavy on his shoulder, trying to offer some comfort after she dumped him.

“I’m here with my mom,” she says after a beat. He knows why she’s explaining. She left him in a parking lot on the south side of this town, then she left him in the porch of this very same house after saying her final goodbyes, and it’s only the third time in four years he sees Veronica Lodge somewhere outside her Instagram feed. Betty’s party, Josie’s wedding,

 _His father’s funeral_.

She walks slowly towards him and reaches out a hand, curling her fingers around his wrist. He looks down and sees her nails painted black, the pearl bracelet she’s wearing. A part of him wants to take a step back, wants to say something that will make her stay away, but all he can feel is her touch, and he’s got nothing.

“I’m so, so sorry, Archie,” she utters. He’s heard that a lot today. His eyes go up to her arm, the delicate embroidery on the sleeves of her black dress, her wavy hair resting on her shoulders, and then her face. She’s looking down, looking at the spot where she’s touching him, “I wanna help, but I don’t…”

 _Know how_ , her big brown eyes tell him when she looks up at his face, and he feels his cheeks heat up. Her fingers slip down his wrist and she almost holds his hand, and he almost lets her, but they seem to give up, pulling away at the same time.

“It’s okay,” he says, swallowing hard before a lump forms on his throat. The arm she was touching feels foreign to him, hanging weirdly on his side now that she wasn’t holding his wrist, so he puts that hand behind his neck just to do something with it, “Thanks. Make yourself at home. I’ll brew the coffee.”

 

 

He’s not sure how they manage to avoid each other in a fairly small house, but he only sees Veronica again a couple of hours later, when the reception is virtually over and he’s politely saying goodbye to the guests, his mother beside him. She’s retrieving their coats from the cupboard under the stairs while, at the door, Hermione Lodge holds him briefly, saying nice words about his dad, and then hugs Mary tightly and for a long time, eyes damp when they pull apart.

Veronica helps her mother put on her coat and Archie tries not to look directly at her, tries not to absorb too much, and nearly succeeds, only glancing up when she touches his arm again, right above his elbow. She smiles briefly, and his heart does a stupid thing,

“I’ll see you, Archiekins.”

(Dèja-Vu is a fucked up concept.)

 

 

 

He finds Jughead sitting on the front porch, still on his kilt and shirt, rolling a cigarette with skilled fingers. Archie drops next to him.

“You want one?” Jughead asks. Archie contemplates the idea – probably no better day to start smoking than the day he's buried his father – but ultimately shakes his head.

“Your speech, Jug,” Archie says, eventually, “Thank you.”

“Yeah,” he blows out some smoke through his nostrils, “You’ve been brave today, pal. Pureheart the Powerful strikes back,” he nudges him slightly with his shoulder.

Archie snorts. He wants to tell Jughead about how he’s truly a coward, how he’d pushed his dad away for a long time before this happened, how the last thing he told Fred Andrews was _later_ , how he’s not sure what to do from now on, but he opens his mouth, and nothing comes out. A part of him knows that Jughead shouldn’t have to comfort him, not when he too had lost another father figure (one in jail, the other six feet underground), and another part of him feels _ashamed_ of it all.

They coexist in silence for a while, the smoke making Archie’s nose tickly. It’s barely eight in the evening, but they both are so exhausted; it’s like that day had thirty hours already.

 

 

His mother leaves first, two days later, on a Friday morning. He drives her all the way to Albany’s airport, lets her hold him and breathes in her sweet, familiar scent in between her neck and her shoulder. She reassures him things will be okay, tells him she will call every day, tells him she’ll be there when Fred’s will is read, kisses his forehead, and then she’s gone. Archie waits until she disappears through the airport’s doors and gets back into his father’s old truck.

Bruce swings by to pick Lauren up in that same afternoon, and she promises to bring Archie more clothes in the next weekend. He gives her a pretty, colorful flower bouquet to thank her for all the help, and she seems moved by his gesture, offering him wet eyes and a long hug, nodding at her boyfriend after they’re done. She doesn’t tease him about a new EP.

It’s been only seven days since he got her phone call, but he feels ten years older.

Jughead goes on Sunday night (since Nancy shouldn’t stay with their neighbors in Philadelphia any longer), holding him and vowing to return as soon as possible. He catches a bus and leaves the car behind with Betty, who manages to stay for one more week, practically moving in with him.

Betty gives him a pad of paper so he can jot down important things that come to his brain – a _to-do list._ She says he’ll need to be organized for when he’s feeling better. Archie can’t see quite see this day coming, can’t reach out to grasp anything that sounds like _better_ , but he doesn’t have it in him to argue her (as he shouldn't; she’s probably right), so he writes down the things that surface on his mind. He needs to clean up Fred’s closet, sort out clothes to donation, request copies of the death certificate, contact the state's Will Registry, close accounts, open all the mail that’s been piling up since he arrived in Riverdale, contact his father’s health insurance company.

Archie still can’t do any of those things, though, so he sleeps most of the time. He’s just so tired.

Betty cooks him comforting, balanced meals he only half eats, and she takes care of the house the way she was taught to do by her mother, constantly moping the floor, cleaning the kitchen and ironing clothes. He feels weird every time he sees her moving around that house, looking like the all-American housewife in the future they could have had.

He’s so grateful for her presence, but it also overwhelms him a little, so when she has to say goodbye, hugging tightly, giving a lot of recommendations about eating, sleeping and taking care of himself, and saying she’s sorry again and again, Archie is somewhat relieved.

 

 

 

Three days after Betty leaves, she comes back. Or at least it’s what his inactive mind tells him, because it’s a Wednesday, past nine o’clock in the evening, and he’s lying on the couch passively watching the latest _Fast and Furious_ when his bell rings. He runs a hand through his face – he needs to shave – and contemplates not answering it because it _has_ to be Betty, when it rings again. Annoyed, he prompts himself to his feet, and shouts, “I’m coming!” when the bell rings one more time.

“Where is your –” he stops mid-sentence, right before _key_ , when he opens the door and finds Veronica on the other side, _“Ronnie?”_

Archie has been, for the past six years since their break-up (not that he was counting), very careful while addressing her, very cautious in calling her anything but _Veronica_ , mostly because it would hurt him to say his nickname for her as much as it hurt him to hear she call him _Archiekins_ , but he’s so stunned to see her at his door that it just slips, like it had always been sitting on the tip of his tongue, waiting to be said again.

“Hi,” she breathes, biting her lower lip for the tiniest moment, “Betty told me you were alone, and I am still here with my mom so I… I thought you might want some company.”

 _Later_ , Archie said over the phone, and then he never talked to his father again. It hurts, it hurts in his body, in his skin, it hurts when he closes his eyes and when he’s awake, and if he could turn back time, if he could pick up the phone again and say something else, something else but _later_ , he wouldn’t have been left with that vacant, yet strikingly aching feeling, so he looks at Veronica, at her beautiful face, the face he once loved so much, the face he’d been seeing only through phone screens, the face he was always trying not to write songs about, and he thinks _fuck it_.

He’s not going to say _later_ anymore.

Archie smiles briefly with the corner of his mouth, and nods, letting her in.

 

 

 

tbc

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3  
> I hope you all like this chapter and that it wasn't too anti-climatic (it is post a funeral, after all lol)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many nice comments, they made me so happy! I’m so glad you’re all enjoying this. This is a nice chapter, I hope. The angst is tuned down a little because, as Jughead would say, Varchie are the opposite of death. But these are Archie and Veronica and the #talk you want them to have is not gonna happen anytime soon lol, but hang in there.
> 
> Also, for me, as a Brazilian, is so hard to understand US education's system lol I hope I didn’t say anything wrong. The song that plays on the radio is “The Wisp Sings” by Winter Aid and it’s so, so beautiful.

_I miss the way you sing low  
So I can’t hear your voice over the radio in my car_

_♪  Copeland, California_

 

 

Archie wakes up slowly, face scrunched against the light spilling into the room. He is immediately aware of a headache pounding in his temples. He grunts, wonders if the pain woke him up, and _shit_ , why did he even drink so much?

“Oh, look who’s alive,” Veronica’s voice comes from somewhere in the room, and it surprises him a little bit – it’s been six years since he’s heard that voice after waking up, after all – but the hangover doesn’t let him do anything immediately, so he just burrows further into his pillow, “C’mon, get up.”

He opens one eye, rubbing the other with the heel of his hand as he groans, “Why?”

“Because it’s past noon, boozy,” there’s laughter in her voice, and it prompts Archie to open both his eyes, so he can drink in the sight of her with a smile on her face. Veronica’s wearing a different outfit, an emerald green skirt with a black structured top, the waves of her hair fall perfectly over her shoulder; she doesn’t look at all like someone who gulped large amounts of wine last night. He sits up slowly, feeling a little dizzy, and the view seems to amuse her, “Here. I got you some coffee.”

Archie holds the warm plastic cup she hands him and looks around. He has no recollection of climbing up the stairs or coming to his room or taking his clothes off. He panics a little bit as he realizes he’s only wearing boxers and pulls the sheets over his lap. His heart’s rate picks up a little bit because it’s not possible that they’ve – “I can’t remember anything from last night,” he says, focusing on her face, a little terrified.

She giggles, “Oh, _I know_ you don’t. I mean, you’d expect more from an upcoming Rockstar, but you were gone after the second bottle.”

“I slowed down after rehab,” he jokes, feeling a little self-conscious; she laughs at him anyway, and sits on his old desk’s chair, kicking some of his discarded clothes on the floor. He notices they are damp, and frowns, “How the hell did I –”

“What’s the last thing you remember?” she drinks from her own cup of coffee – he wonders, vaguely, if she still takes an almond milk latte with two extra espresso shots and no sugar, something he didn’t know he remembered – and he sips his. It’s strong, sweet, and more than welcomed.

“We were sitting in the living room and it was really, really awkward,” he focuses on that memory. They sat in opposite couches and she had her legs crossed, and her shoe was almost falling off her right foot, “So you decided we should drink, and apparently I drank, and you just stood there watching me burn.”

She rolls her eyes, “No, Rihanna. I was drinking in a human pace, but you were _chugging_ wine like it was the last cask in the Marriage at Cana,” Archie can’t help but laugh, “Anyway, you did drink a lot, and then –” her expression alters into something more serious. It bothers him, since her voice changes too, “You kind of freaked out, I think. You were talking about your dad and all the things you had to do and how you couldn’t do them, and then you threw up all over the place. I tried to help you, but you wouldn’t let me touch you, so…”

“ _What?_ ” Archie feels something twisting in his stomach. He can’t remember any of this. He studies her, then, quite frantically, trying to find something out of place, trying to see if he did something bad, but it’s been so long since he’s _looked_ at her that he doesn’t know if he can recognize these details anymore, “Ronnie –”

There must be something in his voice, because she looks up at him and places one hand on top of his, “Oh, no, no, no Archie, you didn’t hurt me,” she says. Archie swallows hard, nausea burning in his insides and her touch burning on his hand, and he wants to take her hand in his, but he something tells him he shouldn’t. She removes her hand before it’s too late, “You were just extremely annoying about it, saying stupid stuff, so I was pretty over it but somehow I managed to get you upstairs. I threw you in the shower, you were still wearing all of this,” she nudges the wet clothes with her feet, “And then I went home.”

Archie feels like crap as he places his coffee on the nightstand, and runs his hand through his messy hair. He’s not sure what stupid stuff he said to her, it takes him back to the _last time_ he said stupid stuff to her after a drinking spiral, and he’s uncertain if this – _spending time together again_ – should be happening.

“But I felt a little guilty this morning when I remembered you could’ve slipped in the shower and cracked your head open,” she grins again, and it calms down the coiling inside him, “So here I am.”

“Thank you,” he sighs. She gives him the little smile that she used to give him before it all, the one that’s soft and packed with _something_ , and he can do nothing else but smile back, “And I’m sorry?”

“Not so easy, Archiekins. You’re buying me lunch.”

 

 

 

Archie finds out Veronica had cleaned up most of the mess he made in the living room, so he just throws his clothes in the washing machine, and takes another shower.

It’s weird to know she’s there, waiting downstairs as he washes off his hangover.

He’d been drowning in sadness and guilt for the past couple of weeks, and that, and tiredness, were the only feelings he was really experiencing, but now he knew she was there, in that house where they shared so many memories, and a lot of other emotions were surfacing, his blood running a little bit faster, his cheeks heating up a little more.

He is nervous, the same way he was yesterday when he accepted they should drink. They hadn’t been _really_ spending time together for a very long time, let alone sober, and Archie didn’t know what to think of it. Did he really want this? He’d just lost his father. That girl broke his fucking heart.

But he sees her sitting on his couch, and asks where she wants to eat, because he was never good at deciding what he wanted, anyway.

 

 

They don’t go to Pop’s. It’s the first thing they agree on – no, no, too soon, Archie didn’t know if he would be able to breathe if he thought about his dad’s blood on that floor. He thinks about taking her to one of the joints in the renovated Southside (thanks to one Lodge Industries), but he remembers how ugly her parent's divorce was and how big of a part SoDale had played in that, and rules it out too.

Not many options are left in Riverdale, so they drive to Greendale, and Archie keeps throwing glances at the passenger’s seat, at the way the spring sun hits her expensive sunglasses, at the way her skin acquires a new tone of gold every time he peeks again.

 

 

In the little Italian restaurant they pick out, Archie stares at Veronica while she reads the menu. He _really_ looks at her, drinks in her face and shape, and finds out she’s even more beautiful than she was before if that was even possible. Her cheeks are slightly thinner, and she probably looks a little bit older than what he remembers in detail. There’s a hint of dark circles beneath her otherwise flawless make-up, and he sees a tiny flake of mascara smudged on her brow bone, and the form of her ears, exposed by the sunglasses on top of her head pulling her raven hair out of her face.

Veronica orders _pasta alla Norma_ and a bottle of sparkling water. He orders a steak with a name he only half-knows how to pronounce, and a Coke. The waiter asks if they wouldn’t like to have some wine with their food. Her eyes catch Archie’s for a split second, her perfectly shaped brow curves a little, and just like that, they share a new memory again, something different, something that didn’t happen six years ago.

 

 

“So, last night,” she begins, when the waiter leaves their table. Archie stiffens a little, “You were telling me that you had a lot of obligations and didn’t know how to tackle them.”

“Oh,” he says, somewhat relieved. He was still waiting for a big revelation about last night’s events, “Yeah. Betty made me write this list of the things I need to do and it’s just getting longer. My dad,” he stops for a bit, because he hasn’t done this yet, hasn’t _really talked_ about his dad, just sat back in silence. But Veronica nods, encouraging him to go on, and he realizes he can, he’s safe, “My dad sent me some papers to sign before it all happened, I don’t even know what’s all that about, so I guess I’m just waiting until I have them to… start doing something. They’re still in New York because I kept thinking I’d deal with them _later_ ,” he breathes, “Lauren’s bringing them this weekend.”

For a moment he wonders if she’ll ask him who’s Lauren; if she’ll use a tune that’s just one pitch higher, the one that used to make her sound jealous, but she doesn’t.

Veronica doesn’t say anything about _later_ , either, and Archie can’t tell if he’s disappointed or relieved, “I can help you,” she says, instead, “I mean, I am pretty good at legalities after everything, and I’m staying in Riverdale for a couple of weeks, so I… I can help you if you want. I’ll be around.”

He wants to ask if the only reason she’s here is that his father died. It’s a pretty good reason, but still. He wants to ask why did she knock on his door last night, why did she come and why is she staying. Is it because of him? He wants to ask if she wants to be his friend, if she thinks they _can_ be friends, after all.

If she’s ever loved him.

Why didn’t she love him?

There are so many _whys_ and _ifs_ between them, and Archie supposes they should be addressed, one day, but maybe he should also just give her space, this time around.

“Okay,” he says, and she smiles that same smile again, the little one, “Okay, Ronnie.”

 

 

 

Midway lunch, it occurs to Archie that he hasn’t known anything about Veronica’s life in six years, not really.

Back in High School, after their break-up, there were only awkward conversations that began with _how are things_ and ended with _good_ when they happened to bump into each other at Pop’s. For the past years, all the information he’s had came from somewhere else: Betty, sometimes Kevin, social media.

He knew, for an instance, that her parents had a horrible divorce. But he didn’t know that Veronica was then a shareholder of Lodge Industries and that the only way Hiram stopped threatening them was when she agreed to give up her percentage. He knew, distantly, that Hermione Lodge now went by _Nichols_ , but he didn’t know that that is her maiden’s name, or that she stayed in Riverdale instead of going back to New York with her daughter, and now worked in real estate. He knew that Veronica dated Reggie in their senior year, before leaving, but he didn’t know she was having anxiety attacks and that her GPA dropped after that, which prevented her from enrolling into an Ivy League school.

Archie had seen pictures of Veronica with her boyfriends, just _guys_ , useless guys like himself, guys that didn’t deserve her, guys that she might have loved, or not. Archie had seen pictures of Veronica with her boyfriends in NYU, and Betty told him she was an undergraduate in Sociology, but he didn’t know that her father tried to win her back by _buying_ her a spot at Columbia, and she was so furious at him that she decided to stay at NYU, and would get into Law School and take the Hiram Lodges of the world down, even if it was the last thing she ever did.

“I have no doubt,” he says, catching the fire in her brown eyes as she talks. It makes her stop, a little bit, and glance up at him, a little more vulnerable, a little more like the Veronica he recalled from their last real conversation when she said goodbye to him, and he didn’t even know then that her world was falling apart.

“Thanks, Archie,” she seems surprised, but there’s also a lot of softness in her voice, “You might be the only one.”

 

They share a _tiramisu_ for dessert, and Archie tries not to think that their mouths taste the same.

 

 

The drive back to Riverdale is quiet, and the sun is starting to set, painting the sky in various shades of blue and orange. She still has her sunglasses on the top of her head, and Archie notices she took off her heels; her feet are swaying softly in the rhythm of the song playing on the radio, a ballad he could have easily written if he _could_ write anything, a melody she knew the words to, because she sang along, so low it was barely audible, _and how I sing you like a song I heard when I was young and buried it for a night like this._

He can’t stop looking at her.

 

 

When they arrive at The Pembrooke, she unbuckles her seatbelt and looks at him with glittery eyes, “Well, you’re forgiven.”

Archie’s expression twists between a frown and a smile, “For what?”

“For being a drunk jerk,” she chuckles, but then adds, “ _Twice._ ”

Josie’s wedding and the whole _thank you for breaking my heart, now I get a royalty check every month_ fiasco. Archie rubs the back of his neck, which is suddenly hot, averting her eyes for an instant, “Not my finest moments.”

“True,” she agrees, putting her shoes back on, her hair falling around her face, “But you’re forgiven.”

He doesn’t really know what that means, or if there’s more to forgive – perhaps he has to forgive her, too, because she was the one who walked away when he laid down his heart – but he smiles warmly, and takes what he can get, “I’ll hold on to that.”

“God, you’re so _poetic_ ,” she laughs, mocking him as she opens the door. Archie can’t help but laugh, too, but her voice is a little more serious when it comes again, “Let me know when you need me, okay?”

He nods, and she gets out the truck, closing its door with a soft _thump._ She looks over her shoulder before going up the steps that lead to the building’s entrance, only for a brief second, with the briefest smile on her lips, as he follows her with his eyes.

Archie takes a deep breath when she disappears. His father was still dead, and every part of his body was still hurting, but somehow, and yet again, Veronica Lodge got him hoping for better days.

 

 

tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was scared of their real interaction, but I hope you like it, I know I smiled a lot while writing this chapter. There’s more to come. Nothing is magically fixed, a lot of Archie’s questions in this chapter have to be answered, but we’ll get there. Oh, the Marriage at Cana was that Bible passage in which Jesus turns the water into wine, in case someone doesn’t know.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me and my grammar mistakes! Hahaha. I LOVE YOUR COMMENTS, they are my fuel, please keep on leaving them!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Post-Christmas!! Your comments mean EVERYTHING to me, they are my fuel to keep on writing this excruciatingly slow story lol. I am so happy you’re enjoying it. I did reread the chapters and fixed some minor mistakes that caught my eye, so if you want you can reread and check the (really tiny) changes.

 

_What do I gotta do  
To get in your motherfucking heart?_

_♪ Rihanna, Love On The Brain_

 

 

 

On Saturday morning, Archie is already awake, brewing coffee, when Lau texts him to say that her plans to come over today had to be postponed by a stupid last-minute family lunch and that she'd be in Riverdale the next day even if she had to kill Bruce and his mom. He smiles, feeling a little bummed about it – he’d been hoping to see a familiar face, and to put his hands on that envelope – but sends her the typical skull emoji, followed by the one that’s a cat face with hearts on its eyes.

She replies that she swears she'll be there next morning at ten, and he believes her. Lauren was very responsible for her obligations.

 

 

Archie scrolls down his messaging app, wondering if he should answer all the texts he’d been ignoring for the past week (he’s been only answering his mom and his other two moms, Betty and Lau), but quickly changes his mind and screws around his other social media. Lau has written a tweet and a Facebook post on his behalf, explaining that he would be taking some time off to deal with personal matters, and there is a discussion on the comments section about the root of these matters. Some were debating if he was finally coming out the closet, and Archie has fun reading those because apparently, everybody knows he spends all his time on tour with John Mayer's dick on his hand.

One comment says _Time off from what? He hasn’t done anything new in years_ , and it stings, so he closes Facebook and moves on to Instagram. None of the pictures interest him, and he just looks at them passing by in a flash of different colors when he bites his lip as the idea pops into his mind. His plans fell through, and he didn't want to be alone.

He searches her username. The last picture she’s posted is still the one in the Hamptons, the one that made him write two verses. He swallows hard before clicking _message_.

 _i don’t have your number_ , he writes and stares at it for a long time before pressing send.

It doesn’t _really_ feel right, in the aftermath of the biggest tragedy in his life, to reconnect with the girl that crushed his heart when he was sixteen. It doesn’t feel _healthy_. What did he want from her, anyway? Did he want to be her friend? Was he stupid enough to try again? Well, _she_ was the one knocking on his door first, but still. She was also the one who walked away first.

Did anyone even check their direct messages? The last time he tried to check his, they were all from the fans that he should be grateful to have, and more nude pictures than he would’ve expected, which weren’t really a _bad_ thing, but he tried not to be a creep most of the time.

He leaves his phone on the counter and retrieves a mug from the cabinet, determined to drink some of the coffee he was brewing before getting sucked into his phone, when it vibrates. His cheeks heat up when he sees a new notification from his texting app.

 _i have yours,_ followed by a winky face.

He breathes in deeply, zooming in her avatar – in which she looks impossibly beautiful, with her chin resting on her hand – and reading the numbers on top of the screen. He wants to ask how she got his number (with Betty, probably, but _when_? _Why_?), when another text from her comes through.

It's a selfie, of her sleepy, makeup bare face, wearing silver-framed glasses and her hair up, laying her head on what looks like a book. Archie is almost knocked down by the picture. There’s a caption beneath it – _go to college, they said. it will be fun, they said._

Archie sighs, positions himself and wonders what the hell is he doing after he sends her a selfie holding the coffee mug strategically in front of his face: _fresh coffee?_

She takes about three minutes to reply, _i really need to finish this paper._

He considers a reply for a few moments, uncertain if he’s going to insist, but, again, she’s faster than him, _i’ll be free around eight._

Archie bites down his lower lip, _pick u up at nine._

 

 

 

The day goes on uneventful. Archie starts going through his father’s mail, finding nothing too extraordinary, only a few bills and advertising. He’ll have to pay for those bills, so he hopes to find some enlightening on the matter once he gets around the will. There's also the problem with the company: who will take over? Who will pay the employees, how many were them? If he's not wrong, his dad was sort of teaching some guy to be a manager, but he can't remember who for the life of him. He sorts out the mail in two piles – open and unopened – and laughs, thinking that Betty would be proud of his organizing skills.

The thought makes him miss her, so he calls. She answers after three rings, “Arch!”

“Hey, you,” he smiles at the sound of her voice, “Just letting you know that I’m a little bit better.”

“I know that, mister,” she says, sounding pleased, “Veronica told me.”

“Yeah. Be honest with me, Betts, what’s this all about? Why is she here? I don’t wanna be that guy, but Veronica and I haven’t been close for years now, and all of sudden she shows up and…”

“I know she had a break in NYU for Memorial Day but decided to stick around another week once I told her you'd be on your own, and I was glad,” Betty tells him, “I don’t think you should be alone dealing with… all you’re dealing with.”

“But… Why? After all this time, all the radio silence. And I know I haven’t been the nicest to her, either.”

“I don’t know, Arch. You’ve always been kind of… _Defensive_ around her, as you should’ve, and I think she knows why better than I do. I think she knows how much she’s hurt you before. Maybe that’s her way of apologizing for the past. She still cares about you, she always did.”

He nods, even though Betty can’t see him. He wonders what she felt when Jughead came back from the dead to fight for her, if she felt thoughtless, if her heart didn’t shatter. But Betty is a better person than he’s ever been, she never really harbored any resentment and, as angry as she was, she knew that Jughead’s faults had come from a place of love. And while, yes, Veronica probably did care about him, that had always been the problem: _caring_ was never enough. It was never what he wanted from her.

“It just feels… Weird,” he manages to tell Betty after what seems to be a long pause, “I don’t even have feelings for her anymore, but what if I did? And what if I’m using _this_ to distract myself from… What happened to dad.”

He runs a hand through his hair. He wishes he could talk about this with his father.

“Oh, Arch,” Betty’s voice is full of fondness, “You’ve been through a horrible, horrible thing. You don’t need to have everything figured out just yet. But if you want, I can talk to V. and tell her to give you some space.”

Archie sighs. There are also things he can’t ignore: the feeling on his chest when Veronica sent him that picture in the morning, a level of infatuation he’d experienced maybe three or four times during his whole life. The way she seemed to pull laughter right out of his insides, and how _easy_ it was, talking to her, making her understand. He’s not ready to lose that again.

“No. I’m supposed to meet her tonight,” he tells Betty.

“Are you going on a date?”

He smiles, “I thought I didn’t need to have everything figured out.”

 

 

 

It’s not a date, he knows, but he still wears his nice denim and the button-up white shirt he wore at the funeral (the only one he had with him, anyway). He decides to walk over to the Pembrooke instead of driving since the night is warm and starry.

It’s not a date, but Veronica is waiting for him in the lobby, wearing an off shoulder red dress, wavy hair and bold makeup, so different from the selfie she sent him this morning. She smiles at him, and Archie is not sure he’s able to suppress the boyish grin coming to his lips.

“Hi there, Freckles,” she says, coming closer. Her shoulders and collarbone are completely exposed, and her skin is smooth and tan; he wants to touch it so bad, he has to shove his hands into his pockets.

“Hey, Ronnie. Did you finish your paper?”

"Eighty-ish percent, but it's only due on Tuesday, so…" she makes a face, “How you’re holding up?”

The seriousness of the question brings him back to reality, if only for a moment, “One day after the other,” he answers honestly, and she lifts up a hand to touch his arm, squeezing it gently.

“C’mon, Archiekins. I think we both deserve a night out.”

 

 

They end up in a venue just behind the tracks that is definitely part of Lodge Industries’ renovation, but Veronica reassures him she doesn't mind and walks into it with poise. The place is a hybrid of a bar and a concert hub, with industrial lamps hanging from the ceiling and candles shining inside of red glasses along the counter. A band is supposed to be playing later on, and the instruments are all set on stage. The atmosphere makes Archie miss his music a little bit.

It’s not a date, but she grabs his hand on the sole purpose of leading him through the crowd that’s gathering around the stage, and their fingers intertwine for the tiniest moment. She lets go when they reach the bar.

Veronica tucks her hair behind her ear, “Okay, so the plan is _not_ getting you drunk.”

There are little silver flakes on her eyeshadow, so tiny he wouldn’t have noticed if lights on the bar weren’t just right. A million lyrics pop in Archie’s mind, “It’s a great plan.”

“I’ll buy you a beer,” she kinks her eyebrow, in that way that always made him wonder if she was flirting with him, too stupid to figure out, “ _One_ beer.”

“And I’ll buy you a Cuba Libre,” he says, “As many as you want.”

Veronica chuckles and turns her back on him to call the bartender. She’s probably unaware, but she pulls her hair to her side, exposing the nape of her neck to him, her bare shoulder blades, and Archie’s eyebrows travel towards his hairline. He’s suddenly too aware of his body – his breath is shallowing, and his palms are sweating like he’s a dull sixteen-year-old again, watching the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen slide off her dress for him on her blue and pink bedroom.

 

 

They’re both sitting on the bar stools, and Veronica has her legs crossed, red skirt rode up her tights a little bit, and he can’t stop looking at her lips around the straw whenever she drinks.

But he also can’t stop smiling while they talk about things, her classes and how enthusiastic she is about the volunteer work she does with immigrants, teaching English to Hispanic speakers. They don’t talk about his song on the radio, but they do talk about his music. He tells her about the big festivals and the big names he’s opened for, even tells her about the speculation of his affair with John Mayer, which makes her crack up, throwing her head back.

The band starts playing when she is on her third cocktail, and Archie is still nursing his first beer. They’re good, a little more Rock and Roll than he’s used to, and he watches Veronica moving her exposed shoulders to the rhythm of the songs they play.

He thinks about taking her to the dancefloor, about spinning her around and making her move in sync with him, about having to lower his body a little bit so he can wrap his hands around her waist, but he stays where he is, watching her mimicking drumsticks with her fingers when they do a cover of Arcade Fire’s “The Suburbs”.

 

 

Around three in the morning, long after the band has left, and a DJ has taken over, they play a song by Radiohead, and Veronica bursts out laughing, “Ok, that’s depressing. We should go.”

It's not a date, so he pays the five cocktails she's had, and lets her pay for his two beers. They steer out of the bar, and Archie pulls his phone out from his pocket to call an Uber, but she places her hand on his, looking up. The silver glitter is somehow all over her face, and her eyes are slightly glassy-drunk,

“Walk me home?” she asks, and Archie’s heart stutters a little.

 

The air is chiller now, and they don't have jackets, but Veronica doesn't seem to mind. She paces carefully in her high heels, and Archie's hands are back in his pockets. They stay in silence as they walk, their footsteps in sync, watching the undisturbed night around them, and it’s comfortable, hailed, after spending so much time inside a loud place.

They roll in the Pembrooke’s lobby about twenty minutes later. The warmth gets Archie a little sleepy. Veronica must catch it on his face because she laughs a little bit, arms crossed over her chest, and little goosebumps on her skin, “You really are the worst celebrity ever.”

“Are you kidding? What are we doing now? Some lines? Call some hookers?” he laughs, and it turns into a yawn.

“I think you’ve had enough for tonight, Mick Jagger,” she giggles, but then her expression changes into a more serious one, “Let me know when you need me?” she asks softly, repeating what she said the last time they’ve met, like this was their new motto, their new ground.

 _I always need you_ , he wants to say, _I need you now_ , but it dies in his throat with his heartbeat. Instead, he just nods. She gives him her little smile, her eyes so brown behind eyelashes so dark. The elevator beeps, announcing its arrival.

“I had a great time tonight, Archiekins.”

"Ronnie," he says before she can leave. He extends an arm towards her, tilting his head. She sighs, the smile not leaving her lips, and takes one step closer to him, and he gathers her into his arms, resting his cheek against her hair. He lowers his body a little and feels her chin pressed to his shoulder, her hands on his back. It's unfair that she feels the same in his arms, fits as perfectly as she did the last time he held her like this, before she whispered _thank you for understanding_ and he was so disappointed then, so _mad_.

Archie closes his eyes and holds her tighter, turning his face towards her so he can breathe her in, floral shampoo and Chanel perfume and a little sweat, and he wishes his heart wasn’t beating so fast, just so he could feel _her_ heartbeat against his shirt. She moves her face too, lowers it, and he feels her lips quickly brush his shoulder before she rests her forehead on his collarbone.

They hold each other for a long, lingering moment, and he feels her pulling back. Archie looks down at her face and notices her eyes are shinier, and she’s still smiling, but it’s the smile that precedes laughter, the one that forms tiny dimples around her mouth, and he feels it, feels the mistake happening, _sees_ it happening, but can’t stop himself from kissing her.

There’s a still moment, a moment between her smile fading and her lips closing against his, when he’s not entirely sure she’ll kiss him back, but then she does, gasping, and slides her tongue into his mouth as he pulls her as close as possible, her body against his, her arms around his neck. The memory of the kisses they shared six years ago, the incredible feel of her pressed up against him, how much it hurt to let her go, it comes back to him, all at once.

She runs one hand through his hair, still kissing him like she meant it. Archie feels her waist and her hips against his palms, and a groan comes right out of the bottom of his throat. He wants more, _needs_ more, more of her touch and more of her skin, but as fast as it all began, it ends, with her hands pushing his chest and a breathless, “Archie.”

He pulls away and looks at her, uncertain of what it means, his name coming out of her mouth. Her lips look sullen and vulnerable, but there are tears her eyes, and they fall on her face as she blinks, “Ronnie,” he breathes, confused.

“We shouldn’t do this,” she says, and he thinks of a closet in Cheryl Blossom’s house, thinks of the space between them, “I’m sorry, I’m… I have to go.”

Veronica turns around, wiping her face, and pushes the elevator button again. The doors open immediately, and Archie feels unsteady as if he's just waking up and can't quite say what's real and what's not. She doesn't look at him and the last thing he sees are her shoulders trembling while the doors close.

 

 

 

tbc

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ughhhh I’m so sorry again. Hahahaha but some progress, I guess? It’s killing me softly as well, I promise you. Just to be clear, Ronnie would never lead Archie on. She has her reasons to come back, reasons to push him away, but since Archie doesn’t know them yet, you’ll have to wait for him to find out. Thanks for everything, guys! If you want to reach out to me, find me on tumblr, at andsmile.tumblr.com!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments, they mean the world to me and they give me all the inspiration, so please, keep on leaving them here! I also got some amazing messages on Tumblr, you can reach me there at andsmile! 
> 
> I established 12 chapters for this fic, and we’re just half-way. Yes, without further do, this chapter is quick and sort of a filler, important to the plot but no Varchie interaction, because, you know, s l o w b u r n.

_But the first thing that I will do  
Is bury my love for you_

_♪  Jaymes Young, Moondust_

 

 

 

Archie is not even sure he really slept when he wakes up again, disoriented, with a headache pounding behind his eyes. His body feels heavy under his plaid sheets. He reaches out for his phone over the nightstand: it’s only half past seven, he has slept for less than three whole hours, and there are four new notifications blinking on the screen, all from the same unsaved number.

 _archie, i’m sorry_ , it’s the first one, sent about half an hour after she left him standing in her foyer, stunned. _we should talk about this_ at four-sixteen in the morning and then _please_ followed by _don’t hate me_ , not even forty minutes before now.

He exhales, anger prickling on his throat, but he’s not as angry with Veronica as he is with _himself_. He _knew_ he was setting himself up for heartbreak, he knew he shouldn’t have let her in. What was there even to talk about? They weren’t on the same page, they had never been on the same page, and he could have had complete control of the situation, if only he hadn’t been such an idiot.

Archie opens the app just so she knows that he’s read her texts, but he doesn’t answer them, doesn’t intend to. He grinds his teeth together and keeps staring at her avatar, and he doesn’t _hate_ her, but he also doesn’t want to give her any sort of comfort right now. It’s childish and obnoxious, but he hopes she’s anxious, he hopes to give her hell.

He’s upset and confused, he wants his father, and he also can’t stop thinking about her kiss, about the feel of her tongue sliding against his, about the little noises she breathed into his mouth, her body so close.

Archie turns onto his stomach and hides his face in his pillow, repressing an annoyed groan. Unable to fall back asleep, or to stop thinking, he gets up, puts on his running shoes and hopes the crispy morning air and jogging his way to death will help.

 

 

He runs on Fox Forest until his heart condition pulls the breaks, so he comes back to the house. After resting for exactly twenty minutes and drinking four glasses of water, Archie wraps his hands with a band and starts punching his dusty boxing bag with fierce determination.

He’s listening to a playlist called _Complete Chaos_ , because he’s that sort of cliché, when his phone, which lies amidst his sheets since early in the morning, starts to ring incessantly. Eventually, he gives up ignoring it.

“I’m ringing the bell for the past nine minutes, you idiot,” Lau announces. He had honestly forgotten she was supposed to come today. He checks the time: it’s nine minutes past ten.

It hurts to breathe. This day is already so long.

 

“Oh my God,” Lau says when he opens the door for her, still panting, covered in sweat from head to toe, “The no pain, no gain philosophy just got to a whole new level.”

“I need the distraction,” Archie lets her in. She’s carrying his guitar case in one hand, and there’s a duffel bag at her feet, “What did you bring that for?” he indicates the guitar with his head, grabbing his bag of clothes before closing the door.

She rolls her eyes, “So you could turn your sorrows into art but, apparently, you decided to become Rocky instead. You smell.”

“Whatever,” Archie says, going to the kitchen to have another glass of water. His chest hurts every time he inhales. He wonders if that was what his father felt before dying. Lau follows him, carefully, “I’m in a really bad mood today,” he announces, sitting down.

“You’re always in a bad mood, Archibald,” she says, and he can see she places a brown envelope on the table in front of him. “I like these,” Lau points at the two verses he’s written on a corner, “I’m thinking _Em D Bm A_ for them.”

“Yeah, I’m not writing this song,” he tells her, salty saliva on his tongue. He doesn’t know how to tell her he’s never writing any song ever again. He touches the rough paper with his fingers, and tries to control his breathing, ignoring the burning sensation between his ribs, “Veronica. My ex… _The_ ex. She’s around.”

“I know,” Lau nods, carefully, “Jughead introduced us at the funeral.”

“No, but she stayed. Here, in Riverdale. We’ve gone out a couple of times. She showed up at my door and…” he runs a hand through his hair, that is plastered on his head with sweat, “What do you think?”

“I think she’s damn hot,” Lau winks at him, and he chuckles despite himself, “And I think it means something, that she showed up.”

“Her mom and my dad were good friends. They even dated for a little while. She was here for her mom. But why _stay_? It’s what I can’t understand,” he says, still touching the envelope, avoiding looking at his friend, “I asked her to be my soulmate,” he makes a sound between a sigh and a laugh, exhausted, “I know it’s not how it works, _hey, let’s be soulmates,_ but I had never felt that way before, about anyone, so I just asked her. She said yes, but then… she couldn’t even love me back.”

“You don’t know that, Archie,” her voice is low, “You’re not inside her head, you can’t decide what she feels or didn’t feel.”

“All these years… I thought I was over her, you know. I was bitter, true, but that was it, bitterness, _nothing_ else. I think a part of me shut down just so I wouldn’t have to deal with it,” he traces the words he wrote in blue ink, almost disappearing on the brown envelope, “I don’t know what I am holding on to.”

She places her hand on top of his, making him look up her face, “You’re holding on to your soulmate,” she says with a minute grin on her lips, “That’s not something to let go of.”

 

 

Archie goes with Lau to Greendale, and they watch a movie at the Bijou. It’s an action flicker, no romance whatsoever, and it does its job of entertaining him and cleaning up his head. It’s late in the afternoon when he drops his friend at the bus station, thanking her for bringing his clothes and his guitar, and she pesters him about the new EP before saying goodbye.

The exhaustion hits him once he’s alone again in his father’s house, which is no longer his father’s. He hasn’t checked his phone since morning, afraid he’ll have new texts from Veronica, afraid he’ll have none.

He sits on the couch for a while, facing his phone turned down on the coffee table like a giant white elephant in the room, not knowing what to do. He thinks about reading her messages again (and hoping) he would have a new one just for the sake of his own sanity. He feels his heart breaking all over again if (and most likely) she has not sent anything, playing the game of arrogance he started. Perhaps the best he could do is drink his impatience into oblivion and sleep restless, to wake up hungover and miserable one more time. He decides against it and leaves his phone standing at the same place, still waiting for a closure he can’t give, and another one he's not sure he'll ever get.

 

 

Monday comes six hours later, with the first day of June. Archie is even more tired than he was before going to bed, the excessive workout from yesterday taking its toll on his body. The day outside is cloudy, warm and humid, the kind of day that makes you perspire even when you’re standing still.

He takes a long shower, hoping the water pressure will release some of the tension on his shoulders, and begins to complete a long list of boring errands: scrubbing the bathroom, folding clean clothes, putting dirty ones in the washing machine, cleaning up the fridge. The whole time, he’s aware of three objects staring at him: the brown envelope on the kitchen table, his guitar laying on the couch, and his phone, still untouched on the living room.

Around noon, he decides to start slaying his dragons.

He grabs his phone. The battery is critically low, and the screen brightness is off, but he can see, amongst texts from his friends, another message from Veronica’s unsaved number, from this very morning.

 _hey,_ it says, _i understand. i have to turn in my paper, and i’ll be in nyc this week. i hope to come back on friday, if you want to talk about it._

He feels a little numb after reading her words, and wonders if it would’ve been better if she hadn’t said anything because this is nothing. This means nothing. It doesn’t meet any of his questions; it doesn’t tell him anything he didn’t know yet.

Archie doesn’t answer and doesn’t think he should.

Instead, he takes the same notebook Betty gave him for the to-do list and sighs as he writes down the things he’s been avoiding. Lau was right, _Em D Bm A_ would be a great start to whatever song. He writes those chords down; rewrites the two verses he’d written before, and then writes down something else,

_I don’t wanna talk about it, I don’t wanna listen all that much._

Setting the notebook aside, he then moves to the envelope, the last thing his father wanted from him. Taking a deep breath that still makes his chest hurt, he tears the edge of the thick paper and pulls out a bunch of white sheets that are, most definitely, a contract of some sorts. The document is folded in a way the last page is the first one he sees, and there’s a line with Archie’s full name underneath, and a little cross beside it, indicating where he should’ve signed.

He sits down and, very, very carefully, reads the whole file, his brows furrowing deeply as he tries to make some sense out of the complicated legal language. It looked like his father was trying to get Archie – his _pro forma_ business partner – to sign the sale of Andrews Construction Co. to another company.

The terms established that his father would’ve become general manager of the company as it expanded – the plans seemed extensive and intricate – but would no longer be its owner, its entrepreneur. That title would’ve been passed on to another company, who would’ve paid Fred Andrews an amount of $400,000 dollars.

_What the hell._

“What the hell,” Archie says aloud, astonished. He knew his father needed him to make some decisions on the business, but he never, not once, thought he would be _selling_ it.

He tries to squeeze his brain and find some conversation, _something_. The last time had seen his dad with his eyes opened was when he went to New York to attend one of his gigs, and when they had dinner after that, amongst glasses of wine and talking about girls and concerts, not once Archie asked anything about the company, about his father’s lifelong venture, about the business earmarked for him to take whenever he wanted to.

There’s an odd feeling in his chest, something he’s felt before, when Betty and Jughead got together in their sophomore year, some sort of twisted entitlement shattering: someone else taking something that was supposed to be his, and he can’t even protest, because he never even really wanted it in the first place.

But $400,000? He’s not the brightest in mathematics, but he also knows that $400,000 was _not enough_ money to buy a business so important to Riverdale, and Fred Andrews was way better with numbers than Archie ever was.

He reaches out for his phone again and, despite its warnings of critically low battery, opens his internet browser to google who on Earth were HN Realty and how did they’d convinced his father to sell the company for half its worth.

When nothing comes out of his research, he types _Riverdale_ besides the buyer’s name, and the results are very clear on the screen, mocking him.

HN meant Hermione Nichols. Former Hermione Lodge. Veronica’s mother was going to buy the company before his father died.

Archie can’t remember how to breathe.

 

 

 

 

tbc

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Errr, don’t quit on me. I promise next chapter will be a lot more exciting, and… rating will change. #winkwink


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter up! Hope 2018 will bring us loads of Varchie so the haters can keep on hating. As I’ve warned you before, the rating has changed, so… Happy New Year? Haha. Again, the response is incredible and I’m so grateful. Keep commenting/talking to me! You can always reach me on tumblr at andsmile!

_Oh, tell me something  
I don’t already know_

_♪ Harry Styles, Ever Since New York_

 

 

 

 

Archie can’t remember how to breathe.

When he _does_ remember, the air gets caught up in a lump that has formed in his throat. He stares at the name, Hermione Nichols, and thinks of the face, the face he’s met when she was Hermione Lodge, the face that he could find in Veronica’s face sometimes, the same brown on their eyes, the same high arch on their brows.

 _Of course_ , he thinks, as he gets up and starts pacing around the room. It’s all he can think for the next minutes. That family had never been anything short than manipulative and devious, why should this be any different? It clicked, all of sudden, his questions were all answered: _of course_.

He feels so stupid. _So stupid_. Letting her in, falling for her little smile all over again, _of course_. All so sweet, dear mommy wouldn’t lose her deal. _Of course_.

Without one rational thought in his mind that it’s not _of course_ , Archie grabs his father’s truck keys, and thirty-seven minutes later he’s turning left onto the I-87S, where a big green sign tells him New York City was a hundred miles away.

 

 

The open road is supposed to soothe him, but it doesn’t. On the contrary, his jaw is clenched and the gas pedal under his right feet offers him some sort of a weird power. He knows he’ll have to stop for gas soon enough, knows he hasn’t eaten anything since breakfast, and he knows that he’ll probably face an unbearable traffic once he gets there, but none of these things can make him slow down.

Archie has left Riverdale around two in the afternoon, and after he finally manages to park the truck in fucking Manhattan, it's almost seven, and his eyes are red-rimmed and prickling. There’s a feeling in the pit of his stomach that is something between anger and hunger as he stands in front of a building he’s only half sure is the right one, on the 3rd with the E 81st, the brown envelope between his hands.

But it is the right one. He remembers picking Betty up there, about a million years ago, after a party of some sorts, and he remembers thinking that it was almost a straight line from his loft on the East Village, thinking he expected to find her living in a fancy condo deep on Park Avenue instead of a pre-war walk-up building with red bricks and exposed fire escapes bordering Yorkville, remembers looking up to see the lights on her windows and the silhouette of the party.

He checks the doorbell intercom and her name is there, _V. Lodge_ , on the fifth floor. He rings it. After a moment that seems like an eternity, she answers.

“Yes?”

Archie rests his forehead against the wall, that burning sensation between his ribcage only growing stronger, “I want to talk to you.”

“Archie?” she sounds a little surprised, breathless. On the back of his mind, behind all the rage, he wonders if she’s alone, wonders if that’s the moment he finds out she has a new boyfriend, someone else, someone that she kisses without looking like she’d been torn apart afterward.

“I want to talk to you,” he repeats, his voice coming out lower than he intended to.

“Okay,” she says, and he can hear her exhaling, “Okay, come up. It’s the fifty-four.”

She buzzes him in.

 

 

If Archie was paying attention, he would have noticed that Veronica’s apartment had a doormat saying _take off your Louboutins_ and that she had decorated her lobby area with framed prints and a plant vase. He would have noticed her bare feet, toes painted in a deep brown nail polish, her toned legs disappearing on the green shirt dress she was wearing; would have noticed that her makeup was worn off, black eyeliner now almost grey, berry lipstick darker around her lips than on their center; would have noticed her high heel sandals discarded on a corner; her hair a little messier than usual.

But he wasn’t paying attention. He was angry, and tired and, above all, extremely sad. Her knuckles were white with the force she was holding the door frame, “Hey,” she says, eyes studying his face as if she was trying to believe he was _really_ there.

She moves her body from the door, giving him space to come in. There are books spread open on the kitchen table, different colored markers laying on them. Archie doesn’t look around at the apartment, doesn’t drink any details in. He’s not wasting time.

“Did you know about this?” he shoves the envelope against her chest, and she seems surprised with the forcefulness, “Is that why you stayed?”

“What are you talking ab –”

“This _deal_ , Veronica,” he runs a hand through his hair. Veronica’s eyebrows are creased, looking as confused as one could be, “This thing between our parents, did you know?”

“What?!” she takes the documents out of the envelope, and if she wasn’t such an _actress_ – he remembers all too well how she played the part of a girlfriend in love with him, once – he might have thought that she was as unaware as he had been about this. She reads quickly through the first pages of the contract, probably more acquainted with that sort of language that he was, “Archie, I didn’t –”

“No, really, it makes a lot of sense,” he doesn’t let her speak, “You show up at my father’s funeral and you stick around, and I keep thinking _hey, maybe this is it, maybe this is life giving us another shot,_ but of course. _Of course,_ I’m such an idiot, I’m so stupid. Did she ask you to do it? Did she put you up for it, did she tell you to waltz back into my life, so I could be convinced that selling my dad’s business for half its worth would be okay? Or was it your idea?”

“I didn’t know about this,” she says, and there’s something on her voice, something clogging up her throat, a tune he’s heard before when she was telling Betty to go since she was _such a monster,_ but her chin is up, “But it seems to me that your dad _agreed_ with whatever it is.”

“Or your mom persuaded him to, just like she did before, remember?”

“Your father signed this contract. He thought you would sign it too, by the looks of it. I have no idea what it means, and it’s not like –”

“Not like we can ask him, right? He is fucking dead, Veronica. And it doesn’t matter if your mom thinks you have a bizarre power over me, I am _not_ going through with this. I am _not_ selling it, you let her know that.”

Her voice gets a pitch higher when she speaks again, “I am not trying to –” she breathes, recollecting herself, but Archie’s heart is thumping like summer rain against an empty bucket. His face is hot, probably red, his neck is sweltering, and that sensation on his stomach is only growing into some sort of heartburn, “I didn’t know about this,” she repeats, “This is not why I stayed.”

“Then why did you?” he asks, but it sounds more like an accusation, “Why the hell did you stay?  Tell me, Veronica.”

He can see a gloom in her eyes, something he’s seen before at sixteen when she had put her arms around his neck to whisper she was sorry, _so sorry_ she couldn’t let herself love him, and Archie feels like he did then, unable to comprehend, unable to read anything into it. If he stopped to think about it, he had never been good at it, figuring her out, always intrigued by her like she was a complicated puzzle, somewhat out of reach, a mystery rolling into a diner and taking his breath away, whilst he was nothing but transparent around her. She could read him like a fucking open book, as she was doing right now.

She opens her mouth and looks away slightly, but nothing comes out.

There’s a bad taste in Archie’s tongue, and there he is, helpless and stupid, gaining nothing in return, “Figured.”

He decides he’s leaving. This has been a huge mistake from the beginning.

“Archie?”

It’s the faintness of her voice that makes him turn around again, but he hasn’t even rotated his body towards her completely when she breaks the distance between them, her hands on his face, and kisses him. She kisses him hard, demanding, and Archie can’t think straight for a moment, but then he opens his mouth against hers, tongues meeting, and Veronica’s hands are on the back of his neck, pulling him closer to her.

He lowers his body, so he can wrap his hands around her waist, heart beating out his chest, but she has other plans, walking him back, always surprisingly strong for someone so small, until his back reaches the door behind him and he’s pressed between it and her body. She bites down his lower lip, and he can’t help but groan.

“You,” she breathes when their mouths separate for a second, and it makes Archie open his eyes to look at her face, though he can’t see much behind the haze of desire that took over him, and he will think about that later, but right now all he can do is search her mouth with his again.

He slides a hand into her hair, pulling it slightly, and the motion makes her moan, throwing her head back. This sound and the sight of her exposed neck get Archie painfully hard in his jeans, and he puts his mouth on her neck, licking and nipping at her skin, his other hand sliding down her back and onto the curve of her ass. Her fingertips dig into his chest, her palms pressing his nipples.

He knows, by the way she’s slightly rolling her hips, that she can feel how much he wants her, hard against her stomach due to the height difference. Their lips meet again as one of her legs curl up around his tight, and he knows what it means, it comes back to him like it didn’t happen six years ago, the way she asks him to lift her up, so they can press their hips together.

She links her ankles at his back, her dress curling up around her waist, and Archie breaks the kiss as he gasps when he feels himself between her legs, “Ronnie –”

Veronica skims her tongue along his jawline, “Take me to bed, babe.”

 

 

In her room, things happen faster than Archie would’ve wanted to.

Her hands are everywhere, sliding against his back, scratching his shoulders, pulling up his t-shirt, his abs trembling furiously whenever she touches them. He wants to look at her and drink her expression, wants to look at her looking at him, wants to look at her hands while she touches him, but he also can’t stop kissing her. He keeps on kissing her because he’s done acting as if it isn’t all he’s ever thought about every minute of every day for the past six years, and the noises she makes into his mouth are almost too much to bear.

She’s on top of him, hurriedly unbuttoning the front part of her dress. She quits when she reaches the middle button, revealing just a section of a lacy black bra, and there’s hunger on her eyes when she decides she needs to take off his t-shirt and open his pants. Archie can only acquiesce, lifting his hips slightly so that she can slide his jeans down to the middle of his legs.

He wants to recall every bit of her body, kiss every bit of her skin, but now that the pants are gone he can feel how warm and wet she is, even with their underwear still on, he can’t do much. She grinds against him, hands planted on his bare chest, and he groans.

They keep this torturing motion until Archie is possessed with a desperate sort of want that blanks his mind entirely to anything else but her, and he flips them over, sinking her into the mattress, all his weight amongst her legs. She looks at him with eyes darkened and a lipstick-stained mouth, and skims a hand between them so she can pull him out of his boxers. Veronica’s wraps her fingers around his erection, and he hisses, closing his eyes despite himself.

He wants more, wants to remember this, but then she’s pulling her panties to one side so that he can slide inside her, and he knows that _more_ is not what he’s going to get right now.

“Archie,” she says against his mouth as he thrusts inside her, shallow breaths and blood boiling.

There’s too much clothing. She’s still on her dress, his jeans are still curled around his ankles, he’s still with his shoes on; the pace is quick and desperate, but with her dark eyelashes quivering and her eyes turning, with her lips saying his name in that breathy voice, slowing down is physically impossible.

“Fuck, Ronnie,” he says, hoarsely, as he did occasionally when he was alone jerking off, unable to pretend not to be thinking about her. She grabs his neck with one hand, pulling him into an open mouth kiss, and Archie can’t help but moan when he notices her other hand is back between their bodies, and that she is touching herself, her knuckles grazing the skin on his lower abdomen.

He feels her fingers moving on her clit, feels her body boiling up. She’s tightening around him, and her tongue is hot and wet against his. Archie can’t hold it any longer and comes inside her without notice, but he keeps on moving until she reaches her peak as well, shaking and moaning against his cheekbone.

They move after a moment, and he lays beside her, trying to catch his breath, finally getting rid of his shoes and jeans. Veronica looks at him, still dressed but completely tousled, her lipstick almost entirely gone, smudged around her mouth, and he reaches out to cup her face in his hand, thumb stroking her cheek. He thinks he sees a glimmer in her eyes before she leans in to kiss him chastely, one arm around his torso.

Archie wants to talk, wants to ask her what _“you”_ means, wants to ask her what _this_ means, if they’re trying again, if that was just her wanting to shut him up, if she _really_ didn’t know anything about the deal, but he’s heart is still beating too fast, he is too tired, his life is too fucked up, and he has missed her too much, he _still_ misses her too much, so he just touches her arm and rests his head against hers, falling asleep just like that, almost immediately.

 

 

The room is dark when he stirs, opening his eyes. His body is now half covered by the duvet. On the bed, her back turned to him, Veronica is wearing a silky nightgown, sleeping soundly, and she smells _so good_ that all he can do is reach for her, one arm around her so he can align their bodies together. She doesn’t move, only inhales deeper, still very much asleep. He nudges his nose into her dark hair and breathes her in, a peace he hadn’t felt in a very long time commuting through his veins, and it makes him drift off one more time.

 

When he wakes up again, it must be some time early in the morning – there’s rain tapping on the windows, and the grey clouds don’t allow too much sunlight to enter the room. The bed is empty next to him, and Veronica is not around – he can see his clothes folded on a chair, and the nightgown she was wearing hanging on a rack near her vanity.

Feeling more rested than he’s been in a while, he gets up, takes a quick trip to the attached bathroom, and puts on his jeans.

He finds her in the living room, keeping her books in a leather backpack. She’s wearing a short pencil skirt in black, a white top, and ankle boots. Archie feels dumb for not getting her naked yesterday since he has no idea where they stand, and if they’re ever doing that again.

The room smells like coffee and her perfume, “Morning.”

She doesn’t turn to look at him, still preoccupied with her backpack, “Hi. There’s coffee in the kitchen.”

Archie sighs. He does want coffee – and food. He’s actually starving – but he wants to talk to her first. He takes a small step in her direction, reaching out a hand to touch her shoulder, but before his fingertips can brush against her hair, she moves away from where she was standing, and he keeps his hand to himself.

She looks at him, finally, and once they lock eyes for a moment, it’s her turn to sigh, “I had nothing to do with this deal,” she says, in a clear, determined voice. Without the rage building up inside him, Archie nods slowly, ready to listen, “I know you don’t trust me anymore, but I didn’t know about it.”

He shakes his head, “Ronnie –”

“I read the file again, and again, and I think it’s really well-structured, no loose ends whatsoever, so you should talk to my mom about it. And if she doesn’t want to give you answers,” her tune breaks a little bit, and he thinks he sees her lower lip trembling, and she takes another deep breath, “If she doesn’t want to give you answers, we can find a lawyer or something like that. But I didn’t k –”

It’s the way she says _we_ – him and her, both of them, together – that gets his blood warm, and he feels his fingertips tingling as he realizes that he does believe her, “I know,” he says, looking into her eyes, that abruptly are filled with tears. He allows himself to walk towards her, taking her face in both his hands, “I know you didn’t, babe.”

She blinks, and Archie feels her tears wet his skin. He strikes his thumbs under her eyes to dry them, and she holds his wrists for a moment.

Before he can even think about kissing her, she removes his hands from her face gently, sniffing, “I’ll text you her phone number,” she wipes off more tears, and her expression shifts again, something between brave and vulnerable that he’s seen before, “You can take a shower before leaving, if you want, and you should eat something, there’s probably some toast and fruit… I really have to go, I can’t miss more classes, I have the paper to turn in and finals start next week, so I – leave the key under the doormat.”

There’s a lump in his throat with all the questions he still wants to ask, but he knows he has pushed too far already, especially with all the finger pointing before, and he doesn’t want her crying one more time, so he just swallows it and agrees, sitting heavily on the couch. Archie silently watches her as she gathers everything she needed in order to leave.

Veronica looks at him again, and she’s so beautiful like this, all put together, all sharp edges, and she was also so beautiful last night, undone and whimpering underneath him.

He still loves her with all his heartbeats, he knows he does, knows it never went away, but he’s not sure if she’ll ever really just let him love her.

He suddenly feels very tired again.

Something on his face must give it away because she steps closer to him and kisses his forehead. It lingers, and Archie closes his eyes, his nose brushing her shirt. Her fingers slip into his hair for a moment.

When she pulls away, she says, “Let me know when you need me.”

 

 

tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> will these stupid kids ever sit down and talk about things? Lol. Hope you liked this chapter! I surely did! Thank you so much for the comments, they mean everything to me! Oh, unfortunately my vacations are over tomorrow, but I’ll do my best to keep updating fast – this chapter is a little bit bigger than the others to tight you up until the next one!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have never received so many comments before and I’m SPEECHLESS, thank you! I am always answering your questions at my tumblr andsmile, though if you want to talk about something more specific, please come off anon! 
> 
> I took a little longer to update because I am currently in Mexico City for work, but here it is. I am so grateful for all your comments, please keep on leaving them to motivate me! Also, the story hit 100 kudos, 2000 hits and a snippet of it became a fake spoiler on Twitter/Instagram and even though this is very funny (I laughed for hours tbh), it’s also so complimenting! In-sa-ne!

_I need you so much closer  
So come on, come on_

_♪ Death Cab For Cutie, Transatlanticsm_

 

 

 

Veronica leaves Archie alone in her white, bright apartment, a trail of her perfume behind her.

He stays on the couch for a couple of minutes, the buttery texture of her lip gloss kiss on his forehead, and ponders what (between his father and Veronica and last night) the hell happened to his once still life.

He thinks of a fire, of how you forget something in the oven and it spreads, burning it all down, laughing at you with its long, languid flames, until it extinguishes and pushes you to find hope amongst the destruction. He thinks of a hurricane.

Then, his stomach growls, reminding him that he couldn’t survive solely on his angst and he chuckles.

It’s downright _bizarre_ to open Veronica’s fridge and cabinets to try to assemble some sort of breakfast amongst her granola jars and almond milk, giving that, less than a week ago, she didn’t exist in his life at all, nothing but an idea he kept trying to run away from.

The brown envelope is still there, at the kitchen counter, staring at him as he eats a peanut butter (organic) jelly (sugar-free) sandwich (whole wheat bread) and drinks the strong coffee she brewed. He feels a little bit ashamed now, driving all the way from Riverdale only to yell at her. She was very much still tearing up when she left, and Archie wasn’t sure where they stood, what would the next chapter be.

He never meant to hurt her. Never _ever_ meant to make her cry. But she had to understand that things weren’t that easy – they haven’t been together for such a long time, they don’t _know_ everything about each other’s lives anymore, and he isn’t all that sure of how much of the Veronica he loved (loves, loves, loves, present tense) is still living in between those walls, in that apartment that feels whiter and smaller than it should be.

He chews his food, but it’s a little tasteless in his mouth. He just wants to kiss her again. He just wants to jump to the part where they have this all figured out, where she will take both his hands and say she’s not scared, where he will not be scared either.

 

 

He’s back in Riverdale on mid-afternoon. All the tasks he started the day before were abandoned half-way, and he’s lucky the kitchen isn't flooded and that the house isn’t on fire.

Archie sits on the couch, throwing the car keys and that stupid file on the coffee table, right next to where his now surely dead phone was still laying. It still baffles him to think that he left this place with a blinding rage and that now his hair is smelling like Veronica’s shampoo, after showering at her place, eating her food, sleeping next to her and _with her_.

He closes his eyes for a second. As hard as he tried not to think about it during the ride back, it’s all he is thinking about while his tongue felt the warm, pulsing point on his lower lip that she’d bitten: the ferocity on her kisses, how wet she was when he was inside her, how _fucking beautiful_ she looked with her berry lipstick kissed away, how for the tiniest moment all his pain went away and his world was snapped back into focus.

With his face a little warmer, Archie gets up, and looks for the little notebook he was using before, his guitar, and gives up on not writing another song about Veronica Lodge.

 

 

 

She says nothing until Wednesday evening, and the only thing written in her text is a time and place for him to meet her mother ( _tomorrow, at two_ ). He is letting her set the pace after the scene he has caused, but it sucks.

When Thursday comes, Archie decides to wear a shirt and a tie to the meeting appointed by his ex-girlfriend with his ex-mother-in-law in her office. He even combs his hair and, with that doomed brown envelope on his slightly shaky hands, he’s sure he looks like someone waiting for a job interview in the HN Realty lobby.

“Ms. Nichols will see you now,” the secretary tells him, prompting Archie to his feet, “If you’ll follow me.”

She leads him through a short corridor and opens a wooden door for him. He thanks her quickly and sighs before entering, almost crumpling the envelope on his hands. He distantly remembers thinking, six years ago, that one day he would have to ask for Veronica’s parents’ permission to marry her, and that notion always got him nervous. But, he supposes, if he had to have a weird conversation, Hermione was a better option than Hiram.

Maybe not regarding his father, though.

(Archie misses him, and it hurts.)

“Archie,” Hermione is up when he enters the office, as beautiful as she had always been, wearing her hair a little shorter now, and those structured dresses Veronica also seemed to like. He thinks that his father maybe loved that woman, once, and it makes him a little sick, “Please, sit down. Do you want some water? Coffee?”

“No, thanks, Mrs. Lo – Ms. _Nichols,_ ” he corrects himself rapidly, sitting on the chair she pointed to, on the opposite side of her desk. It’s still very hard not to think about her as a Lodge. She thanks her secretary, who closes the door behind them, and Archie feels his tie a little tight around his neck, “It’s a nice office you have here.”

“Thank you,” she says, sitting down as well, “I can’t say I’m surprised to see you; I knew you’d come to me sooner or later. I am only surprised that it was Veronica’s bidding. I didn’t know the two of you reconnected.”

He lifts his eyebrows, “Is that what she told you?”

Hermione grins, but it doesn’t meet her eyes, “Veronica doesn’t tell me much these days. I just assumed.”

Archie remembers Veronica telling him, the day they had lunch in Greendale, how she was working really hard to prove herself despite her parents, how no one in her family believed she would go to Law School with a scholarship, how her mother supported her father for the first time in _years_ when he bought her a spot in Columbia. There’s sadness in Hermione’s eyes, and it makes Archie a little sad too – the two of them used to be good friends. Yet another thing this town destroyed.

He clears up his throat, “I went to her about this. About the deal. I thought she’d known something,” he pauses, “I’m guessing you don’t tell her much, either.”

“There are… _details_ of my life she’s unaware of, yes.”

The thought hadn’t crossed Archie’s mind until now, but it seems a lot plausible, all of sudden, “Were you and my father involved, Ms. Nichols?”

She sighs, “No. Not since your high school days. But you know that Fred and I had history, that we were friends long before you were born. He was _always_ there for me. After the divorce, he helped me out, built this place for me,” she looks around. Archie feels his throat tightening up – he didn’t _know_ that. His father never told him, “And after Veronica left to live with her aunt, and _you_ left to work with your music, we stayed here. We remained friends. We trusted each other.”

“Did you really? Because I remember _you_ breaking his trust when you tried to fuck him over a couple of years ago, wanting him out of your SoDale partnership,” Hermione doesn’t flinch when he swears. Archie places the envelope on the table, tired, with a bad taste in his mouth, “This deal doesn’t make any sense to me. My father never mentioned selling the business, not _once_. Becoming a _manager_? Of something he’s built for over two decades? And we both know the price ain’t right.”

“I’m not proud of some things I did in the past, Archie, even when it was not my choice,” she says, “And I’m not trying to convince you of anything. But I know things that I don’t think you do – Fred tried to protect you from all this grown-up stuff, always making up excuses for your absence.”

His jaw clenches. How could she stand there and say anything about _absence_? “Not everyone treats their children like business partners,” he says. It’s supposed to sting and, by the look on her face, it does.

“That’s beside the point,” she answers in a sweet voice that doesn’t match her expression, “I know you didn’t answer his calls, Archie. You didn’t talk to him. Your father was waiting for you to make some important decisions, and you were out there living your life.”

“So, he decided without me.”

“No. _No_ , he didn’t. He waited. You didn’t come through.”

“Why would my dad sell a perfectly profitable company to someone who, with all due respect, was married to a criminal?”

She looks at him, with that fiery expression that he’s seen before in Veronica’s face, the one that warns you that she easily can _get you killed_ if she wanted to. Archie tries to glare back, “Your father _needed_ the money, Archie. His heart – the condition that he had. That _you_ have. There is a new treatment, a cure – but the procedures were not covered by insurance, and it would cost him a hundred and twenty thousand dollars, the full treatment. He needed the money to pay for it, and to pay for _you_. He was trying to sell the business so you two could have a normal, healthy life again.”

Archie frowns.

“I would’ve paid for his treatment anyway, but he wanted _you_ to have it as well. I offered, but he wouldn’t take any favors – you _knew_ him, Archie, he was a proud man. He came up with the deal. It would help him, and help _me_ expand my company as well. I couldn’t – I can’t – pay everything Andrews’ Construction is worth, and I told him that. But he was… He really wanted the treatment, Archie.”

“So why didn’t you give him the money right away?”

“Your father wanted you to know first, Archie. He was adamant about it – he wanted you to come to Riverdale, so he could tell you, ask you if you agreed, if you _wanted_ the treatment as well. We’d have a meeting here, the three of us. I thought about asking Veronica to come too, but she was so hurt after you two broke up that I didn’t… I thought it would be better not to tell her anything,” Hermione takes the envelope and puts the file out, showing him his father signature beside the blank line over his own name, “Your father is gone now, Archie. And I’m here to ask you to agree with him, to sign away the company so you can have the treatment before it’s too late again.”

 

 

 

Back at the house, Archie goes up the stairs with careful steps and goes into his father’s room, the one he shared with his mother a million years ago, the one with the big bed and a brown comforter, the one with pale teal wallpaper and dark wooden furniture, the one with the windows facing Elm Street.

He knows his mom has slept there during the funeral preparations, and he saw Betty washing and ironing the pillowcases, but someone closed the door after leaving and it hadn’t been opened ever since.

The bed, the bed where he would tuck himself into when he had a nightmare, a little kid with a stuffed brown bear on one hand and parents still together, is made, made like it had never been before, creaseless, perfect, like no one had ever laid in there, like it never belonged to anybody.

The closet from where Archie would often grab a plaid shirt, or a tie, or a bottle of cologne for his teenage dates, is closed, and he had no idea if the clothes are still there, if his mother gave them all away, if he’ll ever be able to go through them without crumbling.

He sits on the bed, on the right side where his father used to sleep, the side closer to the door and facing the window, and his breathing picks up until he has to open his mouth, so the air can come out, and he loosens up the tie around his neck, hoping it will help him find more oxygen, but his fingers are trembling, and his father is dead, his father is never, ever coming back, and _it’s his fault_.

He struggles to keep on breathing, and his heart is _hurting_ like his soul is being torn apart, like his soul is being ripped to shreds, so he pulls his phone out of his pocket and tries to find its other half, his eyes prickling with tears.

“Hello,” Veronica answers after the fourth ring. Archie sucks in a sharp breath, and his voice can’t get around the ache in his throat, “Archie? Are you okay?”

“ _Ronnie_ ,” her name comes out like a sob, and he starts crying like he did at the funeral, with his knees on the wet grass and gravity pulling him down.

“Oh my God,” she says after a beat, probably realizing what’s going on, but Archie can’t really listen behind his uncontrollable crying, “Hey, hey, _shh_. Archiekins, what – hey, talk to me.”

“I _killed_ him, Ronnie,” he says with his choked voice.

“Wha – Archie, hey, listen to me. Hey, try to calm down, where are you?”

“I killed him. He’s dead because of me.”

“No, no, no, what the fuck – hey, _shh_. Where are you?”

She sounds really worried, so he manages to answer, “Home.”

“Okay, home is good, okay.”

“I… I need you,” he whispers, and with his chest burning like he’s having a heart attack of his own amongst the weeping, the truth is the only route he can take, “Can you… I need you, I…”

“Lay down, Archie. Try to breathe,” she says in a soothing voice, “I’m on my way.”

 

 

 

As soon as he manages to inhale a decent amount of oxygen, Archie lays down on his father’s bed with his cheek against the pillows. He stares at the stripes of light coming through the closed shutters, making shadows on the wall, and focus on trying to steady his quivering breath. Once he succeeds, exhaustion hits him, and he thinks he falls asleep because his mind suddenly becomes blank to everything.

But he’s still vaguely aware of the world darkening around him, and he has no idea of how much time has passed when there’s a voice calling out his name, and a squeak of doors opening.

He feels the mattress being pushed down by someone else’s weight, and feels small, delicate hands on his shoulder, a quiet breathing on his neck.

“Hey babe,” Veronica’s voice comes close on his ear, and he feels her forehead against the back of his head, her lips skimming his hair, and it’s enough to make him feel the air coming through his nose and down his lungs again, “I’m here.”

The hand on his shoulder presses a little harder, and Archie is so tired, so painfully tired, but somehow, he finds on her touch the strength to move, to turn around until he sees the silhouette of her face through a blurry, wet vision. He swallows, closing his eyes again, and she kisses his face, kisses the corner of his eyes, kisses the trail his tears made on his cheeks and, bumping her nose to his, softly kisses his lips.

He touches her waist when he’s able to lift his arm, leaning his forehead against hers.

“I got here as fast as I could,” she says quietly, the hand on his shoulder moving to his face, “I spoke to my mother. She told me everything. Don’t you ever think this was your fault.”

“He just wanted to live,” he closes his eyes again, feeling her fingertips drawing patterns on his jawline as he pulls her closer to him by the waist he touched. One of her legs goes between his knees, “It was everything he wanted, and I could’ve… And I didn’t, and now he’s d–”

“Shh,” she says against his lips, interrupting him, “Don’t do this, babe. _You_ were everything he wanted, and he would have _hated_ to know that you ever even thought that this was your fault.”

“I could have saved him, Ronnie. I could have answered, I could have said something, but I kept saying _later_ and now…”

“ _Now_ you’re gonna stop thinking that,” she is touching his ear, the way she used to do when they were younger, “The only way to save him now, is by living your life the best way you can, okay? Is by treating yourself right.”

“How am I going to do that?” he asks quietly.

“Oh, Archiekins,” there’s something warm in her voice when she says that, and it gets him warm as well, “You’re going to write a million songs, you’re going to become the artist he knew you could be, and you’re going to win a Grammy award,” she smiles a little and brushes her lips on his, “And you will get that treatment, one way or another,” she puts her hand on the center of his chest, and when they eyes meet, he sees she’s tearing up just as he is, “One day, this will all be healed.”

Archie holds her hand against his chest, “And what about us?”

The question comes from the deepest, most honest part of his heart. He knows it’s probably not fair, asking her this _now_ , but he can’t help it. The points where their bodies are touching are the only spots in this world that don’t hurt tremendously, and he doesn’t even want to know if they’re back together or if she ever loved him, he just doesn’t want to let her go again. He’s physically incapable of letting her go again.

She blinks, and a tear falls from her lashes, but it’s different from the other morning, it’s different from when he kissed her at the Pembrooke. She leans in to kiss him again, and it’s deeper than he thought he would be. Their tongues touch for a moment, and their faces stay very near to each other when it’s over.

“I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

 

 

tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #sigh #theirloveislegendary
> 
> Hope you like this one. I’m not a doctor, and I obviously can’t find the cure for a genetic disease, so it’s just something I’ve made up without many details. Yes, they still have to talk about a million things. Yes, you will learn what happened with the deal. Next chapter will probably take another week. I hope to see your comments soon!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That _really_ didn’t take too long. I don’t have much to say besides the usual THANK YOU, the response is mind-blowing, and I love talking to you on Tumblr and I love your comments here. This fic is almost coming to an end (two chapters to go), and this chapter was very satisfying to write. I love this ship, and I love y'all!

_Don’t wait, let’s go_

_♪ The Joy Formidable, Wolf’s Law_

 

 

She does go somewhere, but it’s only NYU.

 

“I can’t miss my morning class, and the train takes three hours,” she sits on the edge of his bed, at fucking _five in the morning_ , looking too put together for someone who was wearing yesterday’s clothes. They hadn’t done anything last night (having a panic attack had something to do with it) but he remembers her changing into a t-shirt of his and boxers before curling up beside him, under his plaid shirts, and stroking his hair until he fell asleep.

Archie rubs his eyes, still half-asleep, “I can drive you, let me just –”

She laughs when he gets interrupted by a long yawn. He runs a hand down her arm and slightly pulls her wrist towards him, kissing the back of her hand. Veronica leaves her hand on his face, thumb under his chin, and Archie can’t help but grin at her, “No, you should stay and rest. Yesterday was… _messy_. Besides, with the traffic in Manhattan, the train is probably faster.”

He feels a little guilty for making her come all the way to Riverdale, a little embarrassed too. _Messy_ was just a euphemism, “I’ll probably run down by your mother’s office again,” he says, thinking back on the bits his panicky mind blocked from his encounter with Hermione; the sound of smashing glass, a blinding rage while driving back home, “I’m pretty I threw something at her wall, yesterday.”

Veronica’s expression shifts onto something more serious, “Yeah. Just be careful, okay?” the hand on his chin slide up, cupping his cheek, “I’ll be back in the evening, I promise.”

Archie turns his face to kiss the palm of her hand, “I’ll be waiting,” he says. He’s not sure if she knows he’s been waiting for the past six years, not sure if she knows he’s still in that parking lot with his heart on his hands, but it must show on his face because she bites down her lower lip to control a smile. Veronica leans in to kiss him briefly on the lips before leaving, and it lingers.

 

 

 

He wakes up again around ten, puts on a different shirt and the same tie, and drives slowly down to the HN Realty building, a building his father had built, and all its perfect structures. Veronica called it _messy_ , but yesterday was really _fucked up_ and he was not sure how he really reacted after Hermione told him with a sweet, artificial voice, in sweet, artificial words that _see Archie, you killed your father_.

Veronica had tried to convince him, with her lips against his, that it wasn’t his fault, and maybe she succeeded at the time but now, with the midday sun burning over his head as he looked at the building, his stomach kept twisting in a sick way.

Maybe he didn’t _kill_ his father – didn’t pull a trigger, didn’t poison any water – but he did lead his father to death by neglecting him, saying _later_ when he could’ve just _talked_ to him. There’s a part of him that is a little angry with Fred, the part that thinks _c’mon dad, you could’ve **said** something, _but the anger just makes him feel even sicker.

Still, he wasn’t a coward, and he wouldn’t leave this as it was – there were decisions to be made, _workers_ to be taken care off and probably houses to be built, and Archie had taken his time until it cracked him. So, he just goes inside the office and waits five minutes before Ms. Nichols tells her secretary he _cannot_ come in and asks him to make an appointment.

Archie considers insisting, considers kicking her door and _demanding_ something, but after what happened yesterday, it’s better not to push it. She was still Veronica’s mother. She was still her father’s old friend.

He sighs, a little frustrated, and says he’ll come back next week. Maybe it will give him time to make a better decision.

 

 

 

His day goes on uneventful until the bell rings around eleven in the evening. Archie is lazily strumming at his guitar for the past two hours, writing little verses here and there, half a pizza gone cold in the kitchen. It’s windy outside and the air smells like rain.

He quickly prompts himself to his feet, almost running to get the door – he had sent five texts to Veronica during the day, saying things and asking questions that were never answered, and the guitar was the only thing that managed take his mind off the anxiety – and struggles a little with the key, wondering why he locked the door that he has never really locked before. When he finally opens it, Veronica is there, wearing a strawberry-red smile, and a sheath black dress with a fairly large, golden zipper on its front, starting at the cleavage, all the way down to the hem of the skirt. Her hair is perfectly wavy on her shoulders, and there are high-heeled ankle boots on her feet.

Archie feels a little bad for being togged up in his old sweatpants, his (surely) pizza-grease-stained t-shirt and socket feet; wonders how on earth did a girl so beautiful ever even _looked_ at him, “Hey”, he says, pretty sure he’s blushing a little, “You look… wow.”

“Thanks, Archiekins,” she bites down her lower lip, maybe blushing too. He notices she’s carrying the same leather backpack she used to put her books inside the other morning and feels something pulsing down his throat when he thinks that maybe that means she’s staying over, and not at the Pembrooke. She touches his arm and quickly kisses him on the edge of his mouth, and Archie lets her in, closing the door behind them, “I didn’t want to be here this late, I just had so much to do today. I really _just_ saw your texts.”

“It’s okay,” he says, unable to stop looking at her, feeling on his fingertips an urge to touch her. She leaves the backpack on the couch, next to his guitar, and he remembers that he _can_ touch her, as a matter of fact. She came back to him and she _stayed,_ and now she’s there, and he can touch her, so he does, wrapping his hand around her wrist, pulling her towards him, “You’re here now,” he says, when their bodies align.

She smiles a little, “Did you go see my mother?”

“She slammed the door on my face,” he chuckles, hands on her waist. Veronica frowns, confused, and he laughs a little, “ _Really_. But I think is for the best, I might need to think more about this deal.”

She makes a face, “Ugh, I’m sorry you have to put up with all that. If I can do anything to help –”

He interrupts her by lowering his head and brushing his lips against hers, pulling her closer. She breathes in and opens her mouth into the kiss, and their tongues collide for a minute, before she puts both hands on the center of his chest, and pushes him a little bit, breaking the kiss.

Archie tries to resume it, but she dodges his mouth, and he grimaces, “What’s wrong?” he asks. His heart tightens up, and he feels his insides pleading, _no, no, no, she can’t changer her mind now_. Her fingertips push a little into his chest, making indentations on his t-shirt.

“Maybe we should talk,” she says in a quiet voice, and Archie already misses her mouth on his, but he knows she’s right. And it’s encouraging that _she_ is the one pushing them to a conversation, something he had tried to do six years ago, something she ran away from before. He nods and holds her hand to lead her to the couch.

She sits with her back straight and her knees together, hands folded on her lap, and the way she presses her lips together remind him of the meeting he had with her mother yesterday before it went to hell. He feels something coil on his stomach, scared of where this will take them – a fear he felt at sixteen, fear he will lose her when she’s the only place where he feels sheltered.

Veronica takes a deep breath before starting, “We should figure out where we’re at, right?”

The way she says it, in the uncertain, soft tune, the _post-breakup_ tune that he hadn’t heard in a while, reminds him of how young and stupid they still are, of how terrified she also must have been. He reaches out rest a hand on her knee, knowing that _this_ , talking feelings, is the one thing he’s stronger at than her, “You came back to me, Ronnie. You decided to stay. Then you pushed me away when I kissed you, you ran away, so… I think it’s easier to see where _I’m_ at, isn’t it?” he uses a soft voice, trying not to sound bitter, “It’s where I’ve been since we’re sixteen, babe.”

She puts her hand over his, and they both rest together on her knee, “Breaking up with you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done,” she looks at their hands together, and Archie looks at her face, his heart picking up a fast pace, “I was so confused, I didn’t know what all that meant, and my parents, they… Let’s just say I don’t have the greatest role model on how relationships should be,” she tries to smile, but she still doesn’t look up, “I know I’ve hurt you, and I know that my sob story justifies _nothing_ , but it’s the only explanation I can give you. I was scared, even if letting you go killed me a little bit inside.”

Archie takes her hand with his, running his thumb over her skin, “It was so hard to watch you walk away, Ronnie. The week after we broke up,” he snorts, feeling his chest tightening like it was happening all over again, “When I saw you on the hallway and I couldn’t touch you, I… There was a part of me that wanted to fight for you, you know. But I also thought that… Well, I was a stupid kid, and I thought that you had given up on me, on _us_ , and I was so angry that _you_ didn’t fight for me. And then things were so fucked up, Jughead was gone and Betty needed me and you… I thought you were happy without me. I hated that you were happy without me, I hated that it was easier for you to…”

“It was _never_ easy for me,” she pulls her hand to herself, crossing her arms in front of her chest, and Archie can see how it stings, can _feel_ how it stings, to talk about the past. There’s a bitter taste in his mouth, and he opens it to say something, but she interrupts him, “No, let me finish. I could never find a way to _express_ myself, but I felt so bad. I knew that I hurt you, I knew that I broke us, and even more, I knew that _I_ was broken, that I was broken so bad that I couldn’t give myself away completely to you, when it was all I wanted,” she takes in a sharp breath, “It was hell to see you for the next two years and to know that you _hated_ me, and I really thought you were better off.”

He holds his breath, nodding slowly, and then he asks because it’s something that he has wondered for six years, now, “Did you think I was with Betty?”

“For a while,” she says, unfolding her arms, and her shoulders fall a little. She looks so tired and sad under her perfect makeup and her pretty dress, “And honestly, I wanted that for you. I wanted you to have someone that could appreciate you. I thought I was a bump in the road of your love story.”

Archie feels an urge to hold her in his arms, to say he’s sorry. He’s been so stupid, _so blind_ , “Ronnie, _you_ were my love story,” he finds her hand again, and intertwines their fingers together, “I’ve always wanted you. I wanted you even when I hated you, even when I hated myself for that. I was angry because I wanted you and I’ve tried to fall for someone else, I really did. God only knows how many girls I’ve slept with, and the worst part is that I _really_ gave them a chance, I took them to dates, I pretended and I… It was exhausting,” he looks into her eyes, “When you showed up at the funeral, when you came back, I thought that _maybe this is it_ , you know? Maybe this is the universe taking something from me only to give _you_ back, and I want to believe this is true,” he feels his eyes welling up, and it mirrors what’s happening in hers, “Is this true?”

“I don’t know anything about the universe, Archie,” she sniffs, a tear dangling from her right eye, “All I know is that I came back because I never wanted to leave. When I heard about your dad, something inside of me cracked open, and I couldn’t – I had to come back. I had to be here, to see you through this, to… I really am _here_ , you know,” more tears fall from her eyes, making tracks on her face, “I’m sorry I ran away after you kissed me. I never thought things would happen so fast, and as usual, I was afraid of you, and the way you make me feel.”

He thinks there’s a tear running down his cheek as well, but he can’t let her hand go to dry it, “I’m sorry too. For everything, for… I know this is all happening so fast, but I wanna try. I still want you, and I don’t think this will ever change, babe. You’re it for me.”

“There’s so much going on,” she wipes her face with the back of one hand, the other still between his, “Your dad is _gone_ and there’s this thing with my mom, and I have my finals, and I _need_ to get this scholarship otherwise my parents will be right about me, and I don’t wanna be a failure, and I can’t –” her mouth trembles, and Archie sniffs, knows he’s crying as well, “What if we try and it doesn’t work out? What if I ruin us once again?”

He swallows around the lump in his throat, and pulls her closer to him, kissing the tears on her face just like she did to him yesterday, “I’m not letting you go again, okay?” he says, and he knows he sounds desperate, but so be it, “I _will_ fight for you, I will fight for us. I…”

She kisses him hard, letting go of his hand so she can pull him closer to her with her hands on the back of his head, and he can only acquiesce, kissing her back with all the beat of his heart, his hands cupping her face, “Okay,” she says against his lips, “I will fight as well. We’ll – we’ll try.”

 

 

Veronica takes his hand and leads him up the stairs, all the way to his old bedroom, and the only lights on are the streetlights, submerging the room in a muted shade of yellow. The wind outside is still strong, and he can hear a thunder echoing somewhere.

He sits on the edge of his bed, which was still unmade by the way they slept together last night after she quite literally saved him, and lifts up his gaze to her face. She lets go of his hands, and he places them right above her hips, where the dress fits her body so beautifully.

He feels a little nervous, somehow. This is it. This is _them_ , trying again. His heart beats a little faster, and he wants to say something, but there’s nothing else to say when she takes a step back, and his hands are empty again, so he places them on the mattress as she slowly starts pulling the front zipper down.

“Ronnie,” he says so quietly that it’s almost inaudible against the storm bubbling up outside, and she fixes her eyes on his, going on until the whole dress is open. Archie feels his skin on fire when he glances down at the parts of her body that have been revealed.

She moves her shoulders back and the dress slides down her arms. He sinks his hands deeper into the mattress, trying to memorize every detail of what’s happening and trying to control the blood running through his veins at the same time. She’s wearing intricate, expensive black lingerie, the kind she has always loved, and he drinks in the shape of her body, her breasts inside the bra, her nipples covered by the floral applique, her skin flat on her stomach, the thin straps of her panties on her hips.

So beautiful, so _hot_ under that dim light. He wants to touch her, he wants to kiss every bit of his skin, and he also just wants to _look_ at her.

She takes a deep breath before unclasping her bra on her back and Archie feels like the air has been sucked out of his lungs but in the best way possible. Veronica takes slowly takes off the piece; his abs tighten with the blood flowing down, and he swallows hard as he looks at her breasts, her light brown nipples, and her golden skin. He gives up standing still, reaching out to pull her closer again by her almost bare hips, fingertips firm on her flesh.

He closes her eyes once his nose touches the center of her chest, and he plants a kiss there, and then another, trailing his lips on the swell of her breast, and her hands go inside his hair, pressing him closer as he catches a nipple between his lips. She makes a long, breathy sound when his tongue swirls around it, and Archie is lost after hearing that sound, making his sole mission in life to hear it again.

Her body is between his tights, and he groans against her skin when he feels her knee graze his erection, his mouth still on her breasts. Veronica pulls his t-shirt up his arms, and then straddles his lap, making him fall down flat with his back on the bed, his hands sliding down her ass when she kisses him with an open mouth.

His lips leave hers to go down her chin, and jawline, and neck, feeling his body contracting when she moves her hips against his, the warmth between her legs getting him drunk with some sort of basic instinct, some sort of power. He bites her shoulder and she moans. Nudging her body with his, he turns them around, sinking her into the mattress, their bare chests together in a torturing friction.

Her hand slides in between their bodies, but he stops her before she can touch him, wanting this to last as long as possible. He intertwines their fingers together and pulls her hand up, locking it over her head, as he lets her feel his weight. She gasps at his mouth, and Archie slides his tongue into hers, kissing her again.

He lets her hand go, and she moves them to his back, scratching his shoulder blades while they kiss. Archie’s mouth goes down her neck again, her collarbones, her breasts, her stomach.

“Fuck, babe,” he says against her skin when his lips reach the hem of her underwear, and her mouth falls open, head pressing back against his pillows.

Archie slides her underwear down her hips and kisses her right there, and then a little further down, until he finds her with his tongue, and she sinks her hands on his hair, pulling as he tries to remember exactly what she liked him to do, and she’s silently whimpering, which means he’s doing something right. The little noises she’s making get him harder than he remembers ever being, and he is twitching, painful against his pants. He wraps his lips around her clit as one of his palms slips into his boxers, stroking himself softly to the rhythm of his tongue.

“Babe,” she breathes, her legs falling even more opened, trembling, and his free hand slides up her stomach to grab one of her breasts, pinching her nipple between his fingers. He feels her unravel even more, and his other hand leaves his boxers to slide a finger inside of her, in and out, and that motion makes her let go in his mouth, saying his name.

He kisses his way up her lips again, her chest going up and down as she tries to catch her breath, and her tongue goes straight into his mouth as her hands pull down his pants and boxers, freeing him from the pressure, and she continues to undress him with her feet. He groans when he finds himself between her legs again, but not yet _inside_ her. She’s still pulsing from her orgasm, and her eyes are so bright when she looks at him, “Ronnie,” he says in a shaky voice, almost a plea.

“Tell me what you want,” she says, rolling her hips beneath him, making him slide against her, and her hands are on his chest all of sudden, scratching and pressing the skin, palms over his nipples.

He huffs, “C’mon, babe.”

“Tell me,” she repeats, even more demanding, and the motion of her hips, and the wetness against him, Archie can’t do anything but give her what she wants.

He leads his mouth to her ear, “I want to fuck you,” he breathes, hot and heavy, “I want to be inside of you, I want to feel you so wet for me, I want –”

He stops to moan, because in one single motion she grabs him and guides him inside of her, and he surrenders to the feeling, sinking into her, her knees bend on his side and her feet cross behind his tights, and he holds her face in one hand, fingers pressing on the skin as he kisses her again, hips slamming against hers.

“ _Veronica_ ,” he groans, feeling his jaw tense as she tightens around him, hands on his shoulder blades, nails scraping his skin. The sound of their skins together is the only thing he can hear, and then she moans loudly, and Archie’s muscles start to clench, “ _Yes_ , babe, c’mon.”

She pushes him onto his back one more time, climbing on his lap, sinking onto him without notice, and Archie opens his eyes to see her moving in the half-light, running a hand through her own messy hair, skin glowing with sweat. The motion on their hips slow down and then picks up again, and Archie sits up underneath her, wrapping his arms around her, feeling her hot, shaky skin against his, their mouths falling together one more time.

“Oh, Archie, _oh_ ” she murmurs against his lips, and he can feel her burning around him. He hastens the pace until she pulls his hair between her fingers, moaning inside his mouth and reaching her peak, and he’s right there with her, falling over the edge, trembling with his teeth on her lower lip.

 

 

“I know we were _good_ at this,” Veronica says in a fun tune, coming back from the bathroom, wearing _nothing_ underneath his t-shirt. Outside, the rain is now falling down, thumping on his window, lightning, and thunder disturbing the peace. Archie holds her when she lays down, kissing her cheek, “But do you remember us being _this_ good?”

“We were pretty good before, but this was really something else,” he says, kissing her again, even if his lips are swollen and sensitive.

“You probably learned something from John Mayer,” she jokes. Archie laughs, and she follows him, smiles bumping into each other. He leaves his eyes half opened to see her face close to his, to see her dark eyelashes as she kisses him, and then he closes his eyes, deepening the kiss, his arms around her torso.

“He did write _Your Body Is a Wonderland_ ,” he says against her lips, and she hides her head on the curve of his neck. He suddenly wants to sing it to her, wants to talk about the ways her hair falls on her face and about a sea of blankets. She starts laughing again, and he feels it because she’s shaking on his embrace, “What?”

“Was it about _you_?” she asks, and Archie cracks up despite himself, drowning in the kind of happiness he didn’t think he could ever feel again. She’s there, they’re trying, she’s not leaving.

It’s like breathing again

 

 

 

tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Wolf’s Law_ , the song, is a reference to Wolff’s Law in medicine, which states that bones become stronger in response to stress, as a form of adaptation. I think this is a nice title to this chapter, on how Archie and Veronica have suffered, have mended, and now have found their way back to each other, stronger than ever. There are some things that need resolution (Archie’s songs, the Andrews/Nichols deal, and a lot of other little things and feelings), but if someone was asking themselves if Varchie would have a happy ending, well. This chapter says a lot.
> 
> Hope you like this! See you next time! (:


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, I only have _thank you_ to say. This chapter might lead you into a sugar comma. Archie’s song mentioned here is actually ‘Last Kiss’ by Taylor Swift, which is also the song that made Archie famous (the one that plays on the radio). Hope you like it! Also, it’s my birthday on the 18th, so validate this fic as my birthday gift? :D I love reading your comments.

_Our love was lost,  
but now we found it_

_♪ Temper Trap, Love Lost_

 

 

 

 

It rains throughout the whole night, but when Archie wakes up, the sun is coming in bright through his window, and the room is warm. He can’t feel the weight of Veronica’s body on his arms, and it startles him a little, but soon he finds her on the other side of the bed, lying on her side. Her dark hair is spattered on his plaid pillowcase, but she’s facing the wall, and her naked back goes up and down with her steady breathing, the sheets covering below her waist. He reaches out a sleepy hand to touch her back, smiling when he sees a red hickey on one of her shoulder blades.

She looks deep asleep, so Archie doesn’t try to wake her up, just nudges his face closer and kisses her shoulder before getting up. He puts on his underwear and sees all their clothes lying on the floor, a proof of what they had done, again and again (and again), last night.

He _knows_ he won’t stop thinking about it anytime soon – her skin in the half-light, the noises they made, the laughs and the kisses, the incredible feeling of being inside her, full hours of reveling in her warm, bare skin.  He still can’t believe this is happening – that they’re together. That they’re trying, and that she’s not going anywhere.

Unable to stop smiling, he decides he will be stupid and lovestruck and bring her breakfast in bed. Damn, he’ll steal a rose from the Cooper’s garden. He will write a note. Probably a whole new song. He’ll be the cheesiest, most perfect boyfriend ever because this wasn’t just a rekindling – Veronica saved him. She came back, and she saved him.

He would be worthy of her love if she ever wanted to give it to him. And he would patiently wait, this time, for this day to come.

 

 

Archie is trying to make pancakes from scratch, following a recipe on Youtube, when he hears weird movement on the front door. Still wearing only his boxer briefs, he frowns and leaves the kitchen to investigate, the wooden spoon he was using to stir the mix being held like a weapon – he’s near the stairs when the movement stops, and the door cracks open.

He stops dead in his tracks when a small caramel pup comes trotting inside the house and he sees Betty and Jughead standing at the door, their expressions mirroring his confused one.

“Bet – What the f – _guys_?”

“Arch!” Betty says, putting her hands in front of her eyes when she realizes Archie’s practically naked. He tries to find something to cover himself with, but there’s nothing around – Nancy is torn between greeting him and licking the floor around him, where the batter had spilled from the spoon.

“What are you guys doing here?!”

“I told you, no one likes surprises,” Jughead tells Betty, laughing a little, “We came to cheer you up. Are you going to kill us with that spoon?”

He lowers it, aware he’s panicking a little. His ears are very hot. He doesn’t know if Veronica wanted anyone to find out about them just yet – doesn’t know if trying would be _this_ public, and he’s not sure he can’t hide something like that from his two best friends. He also can’t kick them out – they brought _Nancy_ , for God’s sake.

“Are you _cooking_?” Betty asks after a beat, peaking between her fingers.

He looks at the spoon and all the mess Nancy is cleaning up on his floor, and barely manages to think of an answer when he hears Veronica’s voice coming down the stairs.

“Babe, I thought I heard some – _oh_ ”

 _“Veronica?!”_ Betty and Jughead ask in unison, and Betty finally uncovers her eyes, horrified, when she sees her friend stop in the middle of the stairs, wearing only Archie’s t-shirt, which barely covers the _miniscule_ lacy panties she had on last night.

“Woah,” Jughead says, looking away, but there’s laugh on his voice, and he’s clearly finding the situation more amusing than Archie, who is ready to jump through a hole in the ground, “No pants Saturday. Should we take ours off too?”

“ _Juggie_ ,” Betty says, exasperated. Archie looks at her, and her face is as pink as her t-shirt, then he looks at Jughead, who is trying hard not to laugh, and then his gaze falls on Veronica. Their eyes meet, and he searches for anything that says _I didn’t want them to find out_ , but instead he just finds the corners of her mouth trembling, and it hits him – it doesn’t matter.

She can’t control herself anymore and starts laughing. Jughead cracks up right after her, and Archie can’t help but laugh too, his gaze still on Veronica’s face, on how perfect she looks with that beam across her face.

Betty ends up chuckling too, “I’m never surprising anyone ever again.”

 

 

Once both him and Veronica are wearing clothes – he’s on his surfer shorts, and she has a pair of his boxers on, but at least is less revealing than the lingerie – the four of them sit around the kitchen table with coffee mugs warm in their hands, Nancy running around their feet. Betty has managed to save the pancake batter Archie was apparently ruining before. They fall into easy conversation about their daily lives, and it’s not what Archie envisioned for his first official morning after with Veronica, but it’s like he’s been transferred to a booth at Pop’s in a time when everything was easier and clearer.

It’s nice.

After they’re done with eating (even though Jughead was still considering another pancake), Veronica takes her backpack and says she’ll shower at the Coopers, hoping to find something better than Head and Shoulder’s shampoo in Betty’s old bathroom. He knows this is just an excuse for her and Betty to talk, so he doesn’t say anything about it.

Jughead’s glance falls upon him the minute the girls leave out the door, and his smile is so _obvious_ , “So?”

His ears are hot again, and he focuses on throwing little pancake pieces for Nancy to eat, “It literally just happened. Like, yesterday.”

“Of course, it _would_ , though. The minute she showed up at the funeral –”

“I’m glad _you_ knew because I didn’t,” he says.

“C’mon, Archie. Why would Veronica come back to Riverdale to spend any time with her mother if it wasn’t for you?”

“I didn’t know she and her mother weren’t in good terms, Jug,” Archie breathes. Every now and then, it hits him, how much he has missed of her life, how parts of her history will never be his because he was so focused on his world and his pride to pay attention, “I didn’t know anything about her life. I’m finding out now, all of it.”

“I know how this goes, okay? And you both _will_ feel a lot of guilt, but in my experience, just take the chance she’s giving you, give _her_ a chance as well, and you’ll be okay. Look at Betty and me,” he grins, tenderly, “We had to learn how to trust each other again, but here we are.”

Archie nods. Maybe because he and Betty were so close in the fallout of their teenager bad decisions, he has always thought he knew what it was like to be in Betty’s shoes, painting Jughead and Veronica as _villains_ in that whole situation, but the reality was a lot greyer than that. He is still scared, somewhere deep inside his stomach, but all the doubts he had were almost completely gone after last night when they had promised they would fight for each other under every circumstance.

“But how _long_ did it take, exactly?” Jughead asks, teasingly, finally grabbing another pancake to his plate.

“Two weeks,” he says, sheepish, as he watches Nancy giving up the food to chase her own tail for a moment, “Okay, a week and a half, but it wasn’t so easy,” Jughead rolls his eyes at him, and Archie laughs, “Hey, I’m emotionally fragile right now!”

“I can’t believe I had to _beg_ for Betty’s forgiveness for five fucking months and Veronica Lodge shows up and you’re back together _a week_ later,” Jughead says with false resentment in his voice.

Archie points at him with a fork, “Well, Ronnie didn’t join a fucking gang.”

Jug smiles, because it’s okay to joke about this now, and holds out a napkin, shaking it like a white flag, “Touché.”

 

 

 

He leaves Jughead to do the dishes and takes a quick shower, and afterward they both retreat to the garage his father had built for him in his sophomore year. The instruments should’ve been a little dusty, but apparently, Betty or someone had cleaned that room too. Archie’s heart hurts when he looks around the soundproof walls with his guitar in one hand. Jughead’s expression is a mirror of his, somewhere between nostalgia and profound sadness.

“I miss him too, you know,” Jughead says. He means Fred. He means FP.

“My dad was selling the business, Jug,” Archie confesses. Jughead’s eyebrows furrow, “He wanted money for a treatment that could’ve helped us with the heart condition, and he wanted to tell me, but I… I just kept saying _later_ , and now…”

“What happened to your dad is not your fault, Archie,” Jughead’s voice reaches a serious, lower tune.

“So why does it feel like it is?”

His hand finds Archie’s shoulder, “Because you can’t fix it.”

Archie thinks he understands that, when he looks at his friend, his _brother_ , and all the things life has taught him before while he was making mistake after mistake in order to rescue someone who was out of his reach.

“Is the buyer still up for the deal?” Jughead asks. Archie doesn’t feel like explaining the whole Hermione no-longer-Lodge situation, so he just nods, “You should take the money, and the treatment. A healthy heart? You know your dad would’ve wanted that for you.”

He remembers the song he was writing when his father had the first stroke, the one he finished at the hospital and that was essentially about missing his brother, about how Jughead had been ripped from his world, and how they were just trying to figure out their lives, and the weight of Jughead’s hand on his shoulder reminds him of the weight of his father’s hand. Archie sniffs, probably tearing up again (it’s the only thing he seems to do these days), and it makes Jughead laugh.

“I told you I was emotionally fragile,” he laughs as well.

“C’mon,” Jughead grips his shoulder even tighter, “This could be your next single’s name.”

 

 

Archie considers showing Jughead a snippet of the song he hasn’t really been composing, but he ends up only playing some bits and pieces of covers, things Jughead can pretend he knows how to beat in the drum.

He’s not sure what time is it – probably around lunchtime – when he looks up to find Veronica lying against the garage’s door frame, looking every bit like the protagonist in a boy’s dream, short skirt, and white, V-neck tee. He stops playing immediately when he sees her, his heart stops a little, too, “Hey.”

“Hey,” she says with a little smile on her lips, but soon her expression shifts for something less endearing, “Jughead, your mother-in-law expects you at the lunch table in exactly six minutes, about to become five and a half. We were not invited, Archiekins.”

“I’m not surprised,” Archie says.

“Shit,” Jughead says, leaving his post as a fake-drummer, all familiar to Alice Cooper’s opinions on punctuality, “I’ll go get Nancy. See you guys later?”

He doesn’t wait for their response, rushing out the door. Veronica kinks an eyebrow, “As if he hasn’t seen enough of us today.”

Archie laughs a little, resting his guitar as Veronica walks toward him. He reaches out a hand to touch her on the waist, “Good morning,” he says, his thumb slipping in the hem of her skirt. She smiles, sitting on his lap with both legs on the same side, and her dark hair makes a curtain around them when she leans down to kiss him.

One of his hands brush her hair away from their faces, and the other holds her securely by the waist as the kiss quickly deepens, and he feels her tongue inside his mouth. They both inhale at the same time, and when they pull apart, Veronica whispers, “Fucking finally.”

Archie smiles, scraping his teeth on her lower lip, his eyes still closed, savoring her taste on his tongue, “Did Betty give you a hard time?”

“Hm,” she kisses him again, “Not really. She just told me to be careful with your heart,” she touches his chest, one manicured nail skimming over his left pec, and then traveling all the way up his jawline, tilting his face up so he can look into her eyes, “I promised her I’d be. Careful.”

His heart seems to be working perfectly fine right now. There’s lukewarm, fresh blood being pumped slowly into his arteries, running all over his body, and he believes in her, “Okay,” he says, simply, finding her lips with his again.

“She also told me that she doesn’t want to hear another sad ballad about me on the radio,” she says against his mouth, nose bumping into his, smiling a little. Archie feels his face heat up. They hadn’t _ever_ talked about his song on the radio, not since Josie’s wedding, and he didn’t even really remember what stupid things he said then, “I’m sorry I’ve ever made you feel that way.”

“I know I’ve been a dick about it in the past,” he says, pulling away a little so he can take in her whole expression, “And I’m sorry you had to hear a sad ballad about –”

She interrupts him with a finger on his lips, “Those were Betty’s words, not mine. Archie – I won’t lie and say it was easy to hear that song or all the others in your album, but I think they’re beautiful. They’re honest and raw, and – _you_.”

Not in his wildest dreams, he thought he’d been having this conversation with Veronica in his lap, his arms around her waist, but there they were. Archie presses a kiss on her shoulder, “They get me a decent paycheck,” he says against her t-shirt. He’s said something similar before, with words full of spite, but now he just wants to make her smile. He succeeds and smiles with her, but it fades fast, “I won’t sing them again if you don’t want me to.”

“Are you kidding?” she frowns, half a smile on her lips, “I told you, I never wanted to leave. Your songs kept reminding me of that.”

He breathes, feeling his hands sweat a little bit, his face still warm and probably red, “Do you have a favorite line?”

She grins, kissing the corner of his mouth, and then half-says, half-sings, “Your name, forever the name on my lips.”

He rests his forehead against hers. He remembers writing those verses, remembers how they referred to the ‘ _I love you, Ronnie’_ he let slip in front of a roaring fire, so careless it could mean nothing; remembers how he thought then that he wouldn't repeat that to anyone, and how he _has_ said it, to friends and family, but never to another girl. There’s a part of Archie that wants to say it one more time, _right now_ , staring at her eyes a week and a half after she came back into his life, so soon his best friend teased him about it; there’s a part of him that _still_ doesn’t want to say it ever again.

Archie kisses her slow, and feels her parting her lips against his, feels her tongue on his, feel her taste, her hands on his face and then in the back of his head, fingertips on his scalp, her weight on his legs, and decides this will have to be enough for right now.

 

 

His weekend – the romantic, _let’s never put clothes on ever again_ weekend he had in mind – turns into a never-ending double date.

The four of them have dinner at that nice Italian place in Greendale on Saturday night, fruity cocktails on a bar nearby that make them explode with laughter remembering some of their old adventures, and drive down Sweetwater River on Sunday morning so Nancy can have her first taste of _the wilderness._ Veronica and Jughead fall into a never-ending discussion about classic movies, and Archie observes them while he sits on the grass next to Betty, the pup running around their legs.

It’s funny how _easy_ it all feels, how it’s like nothing has ever changed, and Archie keeps on waiting for a storm to gather and disturb the peace, but the sky is very blue.

 

 

Late in the afternoon, Archie leans in his porch, and Veronica leans in his chest, his arms wrapped around her torso. They watch as Betty and Jughead leave the Cooper’s house and drive down Elm Street, back to Philadelphia. They had offered to drive her back to Manhattan since it was on their way, but she decided to stay and take the five-thirty train, again.

He presses a kiss to her hair, breathing in the scent he recognizes as Betty’s shampoo, vanilla with a pinch of something spicy, but it smells a little different in Veronica’s dark hair, somehow. Archie had anticipated the moment they’d be completely alone again – last night, after dinner, he kissed her as she tasted like red wine, and trailed her whole body with his tongue – but right now, as the world darkens in different shades of orange and purple, he just wants to hold her and bask in the steadiness of it all.

She’s the one who breaks the silence, tilting her head up and resting her chin in the middle of his chest, “You know my finals start tomorrow,” she says, softly.

“Yeah,” he breathes, “And you’re going to knock ‘em dead, babe.”

Veronica smiles, nudging his chin with her nose, and he leans in to kiss her lightly, “I can’t come to Riverdale for a month, and I don’t know when I’ll be able to go out, you know I _really_ have to make an impression with my grades.”

“I know that,” he wraps his arms around her waist a little tighter, “I have to figure some things out around here, but we’ll be – I’ll come visit on the weekends, if you’ll let me,” he lifts up an eyebrow, then adds, “Or if you won’t. I know where you live.”

She chuckles, “I don’t know where _you_ live.”

“I’ll take you there. You’ll probably have it redecorated, though,” he kisses the tip of her nose when she laughs, “I’ve waited all those years, a month is _nothing_.”

Her smile fades, and her eyes are full of _something_ ; it makes her look a little sad, “I’ve waited, too.”

Archie knows she’s saying the truth, but doesn’t want her looking so forlorn, so he scoffs, jokingly, “Yeah, right, while dating Reggie Mantle right in front of me.”

Her jaw drops, but there’s laughter on the corner of her lips, “ _Excuse me_? So Ginger Lopez and half the girls in Riverdale High were what, in your Bible study group?”

“Reggie fucking Mant–”

“Shut up,” she says, laughing against his mouth, and then she kisses him so deeply, it leaves him breathless. She trails one hand down his abdomen, lifting his t-shirt and tracing the skin right over the hem of his jeans with her fingernails. Archie makes a rough sound and slides his hand down the curve of her ass, and she stops kissing him with a smirk on her lips as she plays with his jeans’ button, “Archie Andrews, are you taking me to bed, or are we going to put on a show for the neighbors?”

He bites down his lower lip because her fingertip found its way between the elastic on his boxers and his skin, and there’s a lot of blood running down this way.

“Veronica Lodge,” he breathes her name, forever the name on his lips, “I am _definitely_ taking you to bed.”

 

 

 

tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They are so sweet and so steamy! Hahahaha. I hope you like this one - I wanted it to be lighter and I love Archie and Jughead's friendship so much, so I dedicated a little bit to it. Next will be the last, but don’t fret, I have plans for other Varchie fanfics and I’d like to know if you’d be interested on a short story in Veronica’s POV (pre-Your Soul, showing her thing with Reggie, the unbelievable amount of pining for Archie, her parents divorce and what really happened in Josie's wedding lol)! Lots of love! xx


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry I took so long to post this chapter, I was really, really busy. Thank you a lot for your comments, kudos and all the asks. The response for this fic is unbelievable and I’m so grateful! Reach me in tumblr (andsmile) and talk to me! I want to know everything you think about this, the possible prequel, and please, read the ending notes!

_I’ve got nothing left to say,  
Just take me away._

_♪  Lifehouse, Take Me Away_

 

 

 

Archie Andrews has waited sixteen years for something to happen to him, something other than what his small-town boy life had mapped for him. For a while, he thought that a gunshot in July would be his turning point, but a couple of months later Veronica Lodge rolled into his favorite diner like she came from another universe and everything before that moment just turned into someone else’s memories.

Archie Andrews has also waited six years while pretending not to wait, while pretending not to _care_ , for Veronica Lodge to come back to him, and when she showed up at his door it was like some sort of sign, some twist of fate telling him that everything was not lost.

So, he _could_ , theoretically, wait thirty days for her to take her finals in New York, but the truth is that, nine days, some texts and one video call later, he is almost losing his mind.

It probably doesn’t help that he is stuck in his hometown dealing with a lot of bureaucratic shit, finally tackling the to-do list he wrote down a couple of weeks ago. This morning was especially terrible since there was traffic on the road when he drove to Albany to pick up his mother from the airport, and they were both late to their appointment in the Surrogate’s Court.

They have lunch in a Thai restaurant that overviews the Hudson River, and over _phat_ his mother explains him everything he couldn’t grasp during the meeting. His father’s will didn’t leave him much: the house (and its mortgage), a golden ring with the Andrews’ clan crest engraved in it (a family heirloom from their Scottish origins) and, of course, Andrews Construction Co.

“The company is apparently profitable, but it would take you a few months or more to earn enough money to cover the mortgage and all the medical bills. You might be able to sell the house, though. Isn’t Hermione Lodge in real estate now? I bet she could work this out for you.”

Archie sighs, tiredly. He hasn’t told Mary anything about his rekindling with Veronica, let alone about her mother’s plans for the company (or his father’s plans for a two hundred thousand dollars heart treatment), but in the face of the new developments, he’s starting to think he _should._

“I’m not sure I can break bread with her, mom,” he confesses, taking a sip from his water, “She and dad had this… deal, and I guess I was supposed to honor it, and I didn’t.”

Mary frowns in a way that makes she look like whatever he sees in the mirror every day, and Archie tells her the whole story.

 

 

Back at the house in Riverdale, his mother reads the contract a thousand times and makes notes with red ink, cat-shaped glasses on the bridge of her nose. She keeps throwing looks at him while he strums lazily on his guitar, laid back on the couch, not sure why he’s being a victim of Mary Andrews’ glances.

She finally asks, after a while, “What does Veronica think about this?”

“She’s not a part of it,” he sits up straighter.

“I didn’t ask that. I asked what does she _think_ about this.”

Maybe it was because he didn’t believe in her at first, or because they were focused on their relationship, but only now it occurs to Archie that he hasn’t really _asked_ Veronica’s opinion on the matter. He _knows_ she would support his decision no matter what and would even threaten her own mother if she ever acted against him, but they hadn’t talked about it. The realization makes him miss her even more.

“I don’t know,” he confesses, “She said that weren’t loose ends.”

“There aren’t. Your father and Hermione had a very clear idea of what they wanted – but now this contract is not worth, anymore. He can’t be the general manager, and you’re the only owner. If you want this to go through, there are some adjustments that need to be done.”

He nods, slowly, “Okay.”

“Four hundred thousand dollars is not what the company’s worth, but it could solve our problem about your father’s debts, and you could still take the treatment, which was the whole point of this. And we could work something out so that you get fifteen percent of all the profit HN Realty gets from Andrews Construction, maybe twenty.”

“So, you think I should take the deal?”

“I think you have the upper hand here. I’ll draw you a new contract.”

Archie smiles a little. He remembers when he was a child and his parents were still together. He remembers sitting on this couch while Fred read the newspaper and Mary worked, and whenever she found something between the lines that could help her clients, his dad would chuckle and say _‘lawyers’_. There’s a gleam in his mother’s brown eyes that will probably repeat itself in Veronica’s one day; some victory’s shine. They really have chosen the right career to pursue.

He gets his phone out of his pocket to send Veronica another text – even though she didn’t answer his _good morning_ one yet – and is knocked out again by the selfie she sent him last night, of her biting down a pen, a pajama top exposing a bit of her golden skin, nothing on her face but tiredness and perfect eyebrows.

 _Missing u, babe,_ he types, and his ears and face are probably red because he hears his mother scoffing from the other side of the living room.

“You, Andrews men,” Mary says, eyes drawn back to the contract, “Forever whipped by these Lodge women.”

 

 

His mother turns the living room into an attorney’s office, and it’s not long before she’s kicking him and his guitar out. He retreats to the music room, working on his new song for a while – the one he decided is about holding on to your soulmate, and it’s really coming together – and when his fingertips are red and sore, he checks his phone to find Veronica’s answers waiting on him.

_i_ _miss you too._

And then she added, _so much._

It gets him warm, and fuzzy inside, so he writes back almost immediately, _what can we do about that?_

The response comes quicker than he thought it would, _when does your mom leave?_

_tomorrow morning_

_are you driving her to the airport?_

_yep_

_i_ _heard the road between albany and new york is a pretty good road._

He smiles to his phone, _one of the best in this country,_ and then, because he doesn’t want her to lose sight of her goals, and doesn’t want to be caught up in the crossfire if she does, _don’t u need to study?_

_i_ _need you._

It’s the first time she ever says something like that to him, after establishing that he should let her know when _he_ needed her. Archie is confused about the role reversal, wondering if that means she’s not well, if that means something other than _‘I want to see you’_ , but she’s asking for him to go to her, and she’ll never have to ask twice. He’s not waiting until tomorrow.

After apologizing to his mom and making sure that she can get to the airport in some other way, Archie messily packs a backpack and grabs the truck’s keys.

 

 

It takes him four and a half hours to get to Veronica’s place – two and a half on the road, one and a half in the traffic, another half trying to find a parking place – so it’s almost nine o’clock when he gets to her door.

The last time he was standing in this very same spot, things were different. _He_ was different, an emotional turmoil, bitter and hurt enough to doubt the only girl he has ever loved. Not that he is completely stable, now. His head is still stormy with thoughts about debts and his mother trying to milk Hermione Nichols’ deal, and Lauren sending excited emojis constantly since he made the mistake of telling her he was composing again. Since his dad died, just putting one foot in front of the other was overwhelming, but somehow the footsteps lead him to Veronica, and that was enough to make the pressure on his chest soften a bit.

He presses the ring twice, and tumbles his fingers, somewhat anxious for finally seeing her again.

“Yeah?” her voice sounds odd through the speaker, and Archie frowns.

“Hey, babe. It’s me,” he says in a low tune and swears he hears her exhale upstairs.

“Archie? Wha…”

“Are you going to let me in? I spent four hours in a car,” he laughs a little. His legs are jittery, and he has no idea how he ever thought it would be okay to spend the whole month away from her.

She takes a beat to answer, “Yeah, of course. Come up,” and buzzes him in.

 

 

The apartment door is open when he reaches the fifth floor, and Veronica is standing at its frame, wearing a grey t-shirt and soft velvet shorts in a burgundy shade, a makeup bare face and messy hair falling over her shoulders. His stomach flips in such a familiar way, it doesn’t even surprise him. She smiles a little when she sees him, but her eyes are a little too shiny, and Archie takes two big steps in her direction, gathering her in his arms.

“I thought you were only coming tomorrow,” her voice is clogged up with something, and her face presses up against his chest. He tightens his arms around her body, hiding his face in the curve between her shoulder and her neck, engulfed by the scent of her hair.

“You said you needed me,” he says, simply. She takes in a deep breath, and then another, and it doesn’t take too long for Archie to realize his shirt is wet with tears coming from her, and that her body is shaking in his arms, “Hey… Hey, shh…”

Both her hands are on his back, and her fingertips press hard on it as if she was trying to cling to him. His throat tightens when he hears she is sobbing, “It’s okay, come on,” he says in a comforting voice, resting his chin on her head, “Let’s go inside.”

He holds her again when they sit on the couch, and Veronica keeps on crying with her face turned into his shoulder. Archie kisses her forehead and runs one hand up and down her arm, making soothing sounds as he waits for her to calm down. He has no idea _why_ she is crying like this – maybe it’s stress, he thinks, looking around to see her apartment all messy with textbooks spread everywhere – but it feels like someone is trying to choke him. Veronica is so strong, so _bold_ , he doesn’t know how to behave when she reminds him that she’s human, she’s vulnerable. He kisses her forehead again, and she shifts her position a little bit, putting her legs up the couch, and Archie pulls her even closer, trying to sync her breathing with his, bit by bit.

“It’s my dad’s birthday,” she breathes after a while when her sobs have calmed down. She pulls slightly pulls back from him, and there’s so much pain in her eyes – Archie’s jaw clenches, “We had lunch today. I was stupid enough to think that maybe he just wanted to _see_ me, but then he started talking about my decisions and…”

She gulps in air, and Archie runs a hand through his own hair, “Why didn’t you tell me about this? I would’ve gone with you.”

“I know,” she wipes at her face, “You had that appointment today, your dad is gone and I…” she bites down her lower lip, “I was ashamed that I… Still miss mine.”

“Ronnie,” Archie says, sitting up straighter, and she moves away from him in a way they can look at each other. He touches her face to wipe out the tear tracks on her cheeks, “You’ve seen me at my lowest, darkest moments, babe. You know that.”

She holds his hand in hers, “I know.”

“And you’re still here,” he smiles a little, trying to meet her eyes. She nods slowly. “So, let me be – you don’t need to be ashamed, of anything, ever. I’m not going anywhere, either.”

“I hate that I miss him,” she confesses, entwining their fingers together, “I hate that it doesn’t matter how much time it passes, he can still make me feel like I’m not enough, you know? Like I will never be smart enough, or good enough. And if I can’t get this scholarship…”

“Hey,” he pulls her closer to him again, maybe too eagerly, and she laughs a little when she ends up in his lap, both legs to one side. The sound of her laugh gets him warm, and he smiles as well, touching her bare tights with his palms, “Listen to me,” he gets more serious, looking in her eyes, “You’ve got this. You’re the smartest girl I know.”

“ _Betty_ is the smartest girl we all know.”

“ _Yes_ , but it’s a different kind of smart. You’re… _clever_ , I think. You have a way to make people listen to you, like your opinion is the only one that matters to them. And trust me, you’re gonna be a badass lawyer, and you’re gonna find a way to win every case. You were born to do that.”

She kinks an eyebrow, “Are you saying that I was born a manipulative bitch who can bend people’s minds to my will?”

He chuckles, “I am _saying_ that ninety-nine percent of the time, I have no idea how a girl _like you_ ever even looked at someone like me.”

“Archiekins,” he swears she blushes a little.

“It’s true. You’re so smart, and brilliant, and loyal. Anyone who can’t see this… It’s their loss, really.”

“Oh, babe,” she breathes, and then looks at him with tender, dark eyes, and her face is so beautiful when she bites down her lower lip, “Thank you.”

He smiles and then tilts his chin forward to kiss her softly, surprised by the way her lips part easily against his. One of his hands is holding her by the waist, and the other trails up her tight until it disappears on the hem of her velvety shorts, and she keeps on kissing him like she might believe in what he just said.

Veronica moves one of her legs to the other side of his body, straddling him, both hands on his face. He rests his hands on her hips and pulls her closer to him, feeling her tongue sliding against him in a steady, torturing rhythm, a rhythm they had established in Cheryl Blossom’s closet when they were sixteen, a kiss that never matched any other kiss.

She pulls apart after a few minutes, and his breath has been taken away completely. He smiles against her mouth, trying very hard not to slide his hands down her ass since she was crying not long ago, and he’s not sure she’s in that kind of mood.

“You just scored some boyfriend’s points, you know,” she says, skimming her lips along his jawline, and Archie feels his skin shiver when they reach his neck.

“Are you keeping a tab?” he asks, his closed eyes turning inside its lids when she sucks on the skin near his jugular, and apparently, she _is_ in that kind of mood, because her hands have traveled south between their bodies, and Archie feels her playing with his jeans button. She kisses down his collarbone, and he finally allows his hands to touch her, grabbing her flesh and pulling their hips even closer together. She moans quietly, and lifts her head up to kiss him on the mouth again, “Think I can earn some more?”

“Yes,” she traces his lower lip with her tongue, and Archie holds her and flips them, pressing her back onto the couch, lying on top of her, and she screams a little bit with the surprise, but then hooks up one of her legs around his hips, and looks at him with those beautiful brown eyes, “Kiss me,” she says.

They make love in her couch, slower than he thought it would be, and she comes twice underneath him, her bare skin quivering with his touch. She leaves a path of bitemarks down his abdomen when she goes down on him afterward, to finish him off, her tongue hot against him, and Archie loses himself in the feeling.

 

 

 

It’s not a week later when the HN Realty office reaches him, and Hermione’s secretary says they have received his attorney’s proposition, and that Ms. Nichols was ready to talk. He calls his mother to tell her about it, and after the final reassurance, puts on his shirt and tie and drives down the building his father built for his girlfriend’s mother.

Hermione Nichols looks as good as always, wearing a grey dress that shines silvery in the right light, and it’s a bit like she’s wearing an armor. Archie does his best to feel less like a child under her gaze, and more like an adult who is ready to compromise, even though the last time they were here, he panicked and threw a glass on the wall behind her after she repeated, again and again, that his father was dead because he was a terrible son.

It appears that Hermione knows that he and Veronica are back together, but he does his best to leave her out of the conversation – he’s sure that she would have wanted that. They speak strictly about the new contract his mother wrote for him, about its implications. He would be earning fifteen percent of any profit Andrews Construction gave to HN Realty and would participate in important decisions, like choosing the new general manager or signing significant contracts. She would pay him the four hundred thousand dollars she promised his father.

Hermione signs the last page of the contract and slides it to Archie so he can sign it as well.

“You’re doing the right thing, Archie,” she says when he’s reading the final lines, just so he can be sure. He lifts his eyes up to look at her, “Besides, if Veronica really does get in Law School, all the extra money I can get will be welcomed.”

Her voice sounds sweet and motherly, and it makes Archie frown, “Veronica is going to get a scholarship.”

“It’s what she’s aiming for, of course, but you know the odds. Hiram Lodge’s daughter doesn’t exactly _need_ a scholarship.”

There’s a pen between Archie’s fingers, and they are frozen, “That’s not how it works, Ms. Nichols. Her grades and her hard work can get her the scholarship regardless of her last name.”

“ _Grades and hard work_?” she laughs a little, and Archie feels again like the child he was the last time he was here. His neck gets warm, “C’mon, Archie. Don’t be silly. This is not how the world works.”

“You really don’t know your daughter, do you?” he lets go of the pen, running a hand through his hair, “You underestimate her when all you needed to do was to _believe_ in her. She’s doing her best.”

“Sometimes the system doesn’t think our best is enough, Archie.”

He thinks of Veronica’s face stained with tears when she cried in his arms about the way her father treated you, thinks of her kisses along his jawline the morning after, and of the way she tangles up so perfectly with him, and it makes his heart tighten. He can’t believe that they can’t see it, that they can’t _feel_ it, how amazing she is, how… “Veronica is _more_ than enough, Ms. Nichols, and you don’t deserve her,” he gets up, anger boiling up inside him, “In fact – forget it. I am not signing this, you’re not going to _use_ my name as any kind of leverage.”

“Archie, be reasonable.”

“ _Forget it,_ Ms. Nichols. I am not making a deal with someone who doesn’t believe in their own child.”

“I’ve had enough of your insolence, Archie. This deal is the only chance you’ve got fulfill your father’s wishes, and I am going extra and extra miles here out of respect for him. But you have nothing to do with –”

“Veronica is my girlfriend, and I will not let you insult her. We are done here, Ms. Nichols.”

 

 

Archie ignores his mother’s calls for a week and tries his best to find a good real estate agent in Riverdale that’s in no way involved with HN Realty, so the house can be sold. He’s going to have to think about the hospital bills and he’s probably going to have to use his royalty money, but he’ll figure it out. He doesn’t mention anything about the meeting to Veronica, not with her finals almost over and her stress reaching a new level, not after she cried in his arms over her father and the perspective of not getting that scholarship.

He leaves Riverdale in the last week of June, taking several boxes of his old stuff on the back of his father’s old truck. The workers in Andrews Construction agreed to renovate the house for him before he puts it up for sale, hoping to increase its value, and a moving company is taking the drums and other furniture to his place in New York, even though he’s not a hundred percent sure everything will fit there.

He drives down Elm Street, leaving the almost empty house and his hometown behind him, promising his father he would honor his name and fix everything, and that he would stop saying _later_ to things.

Archie hasn’t been in his loft for a long time – not since he left for Philadelphia all those weeks ago, never to be the same again – and when he opens the door and looks around, he remembers feeling hollow in it, dislocated from that world and that city, just waiting, wondering if something would ever happen to him again.

He cracks the shutters, welcoming the early summer breeze into his walls, and sits by the window with his guitar. The song he began to write that day, the day he came back from the tour and saw Veronica’s skin shining under blue skies, is basically done, and now he can think of other songs, other verses and maybe – for Lau’s happiness – a new EP.

His father would like to know that, he thinks. His father would be proud.

 

 

He’s been back at the loft for two days when there’s a knock on his door mid-afternoon. It’s probably just Lauren pestering him about the new song, but he’s relieved he has cleaned up enough, so the place is suited for visitors.

Isn’t it a surprise to find Veronica standing at his door, wearing an almost see-through white top tucked into a black and white plaid skirt. She has sunglasses up her head and red lips on her smile when she peaks curiously over his shoulder, “So, here’s where the magic happens?”

“Ronnie, hey!” he creases his brow, but quickly smiles, leaning in to kiss her, “What are you doing here?”

“Well, the test was over a bit sooner, and I thought I’d come see where you’re hiding,” she says, “May I come in?”

“Of course,” he lets her in the apartment and closes the door once she’s inside. She’s bright and beautiful in his living room, and the whole place looks better as she looks around, “It’s a bit of a mess,” he says, when she notices the boxes he still hasn’t unpacked and a bag of laundry over the couch. There are also music sheets spread over the coffee table, and he hasn’t done the dishes.

She scrunches her nose, “You were right, it needs to be revamped,” she says, but then she just leaves her purse on a chair and walks toward him, wrapping her arms around his torso.

“Told you,” he smiles, holding her back, crossing his fingers on the back of her waist, “How did it go today?”

“Good,” she tilts her head up so she can kiss him, and he sucks on her bottom lip slightly, bringing her body closer to his. She breathes in and pulls apart before he can part his lips against hers.

“Hey,” he says, leaning in to kiss her again. She lets him, pressing her fingertips on the side of his body, and he sucks in a breath as he opens his mouth to hers, tongues finally colliding. Archie hasn’t seen her since that day she told him she needs him, and he does his best to show her with his kiss that he misses her, that he is counting the days until her finals are over and he can be with her every second of every day.

She’s breathless when they pull apart, “Hi,” she reaches out a hand to touch his face and probably wipe out lipstick off his mouth when she runs her thumb over his lips. He smiles, and is about to kiss her again, when she dodges her head back a little bit, “Archie. We need to talk about something.”

“Okay,” he frowns, knowing that nothing good ever comes out of these words. There’s a sort of tension on her face, something he’s seen before, one of her vulnerable looks, “What’s wrong?”

“My mother. She… She came to visit me yesterday, which doesn’t happen since I don’t even know when.”

Archie takes a step back, getting out of Veronica’s embrace, and runs a hand down his face, “Let me guess. It’s about the damn contract. Did she even tell you why I didn’t sign it?”

She nods, “Because she told you she’d use the extra money to help me in case I didn’t get the scholarship.”

“It’s _unacceptable_ , Ronnie. What they did to you – what they keep doing to you. The way your parents treat you, I won’t have it.”

“I know,” she takes a deep breath and then takes a step toward him. He can see that she’s trying hard to find the right words to say, “At the risk of sounding crazy, I… I came to tell you should sign it. You should take this deal.”

She says it in a very delicate way, and if she had said that before it all, Archie would maybe think she was just manipulating, but she has no reason to do so, and he knows it. He sighs, tiredly, and reaches out toward her, setting a hand on her hip, “Veronica,” he says, in a very controlled voice, “Your parents are the reason your GPA went down. Your father keeps saying shit to you, and now your mother thinks that you will need extra money coming from my company if you want to…”

“Archie,” she interrupts him, both hands on his face, “Archie, hey. Listen to me. I don’t give a fuck about what my mother thinks anymore. Hell, I might not give a fuck about what my father thinks. _You_ believe in me, right? You didn’t doubt me for one second. So, I am, babe. I am getting that scholarship, whether they believe me or not. But you have to take this deal.”

“If you’re worried about my dad’s debts, don’t. I am figuring things out, okay? I will sell the house to pay the mortgage, and I will use my royalty money to…”

“It’s _not_ about your father’s debts, Archie. You need more money than this. You need a hundred and twenty thousand dollars to take that treatment.”

There’s something in the way that she says it that gets his heart tightening, “I don’t need to take it now,” he says, stubbornly, “And it doesn’t matter, I am composing again, once I launch a new EP I can get my hands on…”

She shakes her head vehemently, “No, Archie. Please,” her hands on his face make him look at her, “Listen to me. This isn’t something we can sleep on, okay? You have a heart condition, and there’s a cure. You have the means to get this treatment. Your _heart_ – there’s no pride that can pay for it, Archie.”

“I can’t stand your parents doubting you, Ronnie.”

“This is not about me, babe,” her voice cracks a little, “This is about you and your health, your _life_. I…” she takes a deep breath, looking down, and her hands leave his face to rest on his chest. He presses his hands to her waist a little firmer, and she tilts her head up, looking into his eyes, “Archie, it took us so long to finally be here again. To finally be together again. If I lose you, _none_ of it will matter.”

“You’re not gonna los–”

“What if I do? What if your heart fails you like it did your father, what am I going to do? You said the other day that you didn’t know how someone like me could look at someone like you, but I don’t think you understand that I ask myself this every single day,” she swallows, “How does someone so _good_ can like me? _Why_? I never did anything to deserve you, and still…”

“Ronnie –”

“My point is,” she interrupts him again, and he can see that she’s trying to be brave, so he keeps quiet, his heart beating out his chest, “I need you in my life. I have never… If you’re gone, I don’t think I…” she draws in another breath, looking at him with such vulnerable eyes that it startles him a little, “I love you.”

Archie’s hands slip off her hips, and he’s very aware of the sounds around him, all of sudden. There’s a baby crying somewhere in the building, a truck blows its horn on the street, and the birds are chirping in the trees, welcoming the summer.

He’s a little boy on a parking lot with his heart on his hands, waiting for someone to stop her from getting inside that car, waiting for someone to fix it, to rewind it, to bring her back to him.

“I do,” she repeats, taking him back to the moment, palms against his chest, “I love you. I have always loved you,” her voice is low, but it still hovers every other sound in the world, “I will always love you, I…”

Archie lifts his hands to cup her cheek and pulls her close to him, kissing her hard, letting her words die on his lips. He feels moist on his fingertips and knows she’s crying, and he thinks he might be crying too, but it doesn’t matter – he’s okay, he’s _okay_ , his heart is going to be fine, she loves him, they’re…

“God, Ronnie,” he says against her mouth when the kiss breaks, and she smiles and then laughs, and he giggles, hooking his hands under her tights to hold her up, their teeth bumping into each other as their smiles get bigger as she wraps her legs around his waist. She pulls back to look at him, and her smile fades, and then his does as well, and he takes a deep breath, “If I do this, if I sign this contract, if I take this treatment. Are you with me?”

“Yes,” she says, almost immediately, leaning her forehead in his.

“Okay,” he kisses her again, and then one more time, “I love you, Ronnie.”

The words come out of his mouth – of his heart, really – as easily as they did the first time, even though they had hurt him so bad in the past. The room was bright this time, and he’s looking at her, and she weights nothing on his arms, but she’s still the heaviest weight, the only one that matters.

She kisses him again, full of feeling, and he remembers being in that apartment and missing her, being in that city and wanting her, wanting her in his arms, wanting her against his mouth, and maybe the universe _was_ that tricky, maybe it did take something from him, did rip him apart only so he could find Veronica again, but of one thing he was certain –

His soul had called for its mate, and it had not been forsaken.

.

.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, this story has come to an end. The chapter is much bigger than the others, because I wanted to tighten up all the loose ends, but I still feel like this might need an epilogue, so this is what I’ll do! It will be set a few months away from the ending, and I think it will be up in a week or so. There’s an EP to be launched, a heart to be cured, but this is a happy ending, despite all the angst. 
> 
> I love you, thank you for taking this ride with me.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is truly the final installment of this. Hope you like it. It’s supposed to give you a sugar comma. The song used here is A Thousand Years by Christina Perri.

The bouquet has seven different colors in it, seven different kinds between all the twenty-eight flowers. It was a probably ridiculously expensive treat, but they have been spending tons and tons of money lately, so this is nothing, nothing compared to the smile on Veronica’s face as she hides behind it, almost disappearing amongst the flowers.

“Special delivery to Mr. Andrews,” she says with laughter in her voice. Archie can’t help but giggle, taking the flowers from her hands and drinking in the sight of her, so beautiful it will never cease to amaze him. She’s wearing her work clothes, a pencil skirt that’s doing wonders to her hips, and her pumps are black and shiny.

“What’s the occasion?” Archie smells the flowers like he’s a teenage girl, and his nose prickles a little. Veronica lets herself inside the apartment and closes the door behind her.

“Just some flowers that you can give to your fiancé,” she says, touching the petals with perfectly manicured fingertips, the diamond on her left finger shining brightly, “I’m sure she’ll love them.”

“I’ll make sure to give them as soon as I see her,” he lowers the bouquet and reaches toward Veronica with his free arm, holding her by the waist, and pulling her closer to him, “But since she’s not here…”

She slaps his shoulder, playfully, but then tilts her chin up so she can kiss him with her berry mouth, soft and tentative. Archie leaves the flowers _somewhere_ to this left, so he can hold her with both arms as their lips part together and the kiss deepens. She melts into his mouth, winding her arms around his neck.

It’s been almost exactly six years since Veronica Lodge has walked back into his life, saving him from a tragedy, giving him hope after he has lost his father way before he should have. It’s been almost exactly six years since he kissed her again since she asked him to let her know when he needed her ( _always_ ), since she promised to stay.

And in a couple of days, when it _is_ exactly six years from that knock on his door, he will watch her walk down an aisle, wearing a beautiful white dress, carrying another extravaganza of flowers, and he will feel like the luckiest man alive; a feeling that still overthrows him, even though he’s enraptured by it every day.

“Hey,” he says when the kiss breaks, and his lips are still wet, and his eyes open slowly into hers.

“Hi, babe,” she mutters before kissing him again, a little more eager, and Archie can’t do anything but comply.

 

 

A couple of hours later, they lay together in their bed – _their_ bed, of their new apartment, the one with floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room and a view of the Brooklyn Bridge, and moving to Williamsburg was probably her biggest compromise, his uptown girl.

One of her legs is hooked over his hip, and their partially covered by the sheets, but he can see her naked breasts in the dim light, and he can see her hair falling like dark velvet down her back, as she runs her fingers up and down the four-inches scar on the middle of his breastbone, from the day they fixed his heart.

Veronica always touches him in that spot after they make love, ever since the surgery and the treatment were over and his heart was no longer in danger. Sometimes she kisses it and moves her lips down until he’s ready for her again.

Once, he caught a look on her face, and then realize she was tearing up, and she confessed with her face hiding in the crook of his neck that she had been so scared, so scared she would lose him to those blades and those beeping sounds, and that she loved him so much it felt like her own heart would eventually burst out of her chest.

But most of the time she just skims her fingers up and down his skin, just like she’s doing now, and rests her head on his torso as they breathe in sync and talk about something in a soft voice. This time, the chosen topic is the seating arrangements for the rehearsal dinner that is happening tomorrow.

“Your mom and Brenan will have to endure my mom and Carl- _what’s-his-face_ , as much as I’ve tried to save Mary from Satan.”

Archie chuckles, “I don’t understand why you hate Carl so much. He’s a nice guy.”

Her scowl is delightful, “He’s our age and looks ripped off a gigolo’s catalog.”

“But so do I,” Archie laughs and leans in to kiss her, but she pinches the side of his body before he can reach her lips, “ _Ouch_. You were the one who told me that!”

“When I was trying to insult you for liking Carl,” she lays her head on his chest again, and Archie gives his head a minute shake, trying to hold the laughter inside him, “Your ability to like everyone is annoying.”

He thinks of a sassy answer about falling for _her_ of all people but settles to press a kiss on the top of her head and rest his hand on her waist again, because not even joking he would say that he regrets being with her.

They stay in silence for a moment, and she breathes in deeply before talking again, and this time her voice reaches a lower, more fragile tune, “My father hasn’t RSVP’d yet, so we might move someone else to the table, maybe Betty’s parents.”

Archie tries to pull her closer, tries to lock her in his embrace. Hiram Lodge has always been a sensitive topic – Veronica got her scholarship, aced Law School like Archie always knew she would, got a nice internship and then an actual _job_ in a solid law firm, and he has seen her struggling with forgiveness for the past six years and has done his best to stand by her, but her father was a complicated man, who missed his daughter but couldn’t swallow his pride.

She takes a deep breath, and rests her chin on his chest, tilting her head up to look at him, her eyelashes down in that vulnerable way she gets from time to time. Archie thinks of something to say, but he doesn’t want her seeming so hopeless, so he changes the subject, “You still haven’t told me what song you want me to sing.”

She looks almost grateful, “You know I love them all.”

“You keep saying that,” he leans in to kiss her quickly on her lips, “But you promised me you would choose one. I don’t wanna pick the wrong sappy ballad and ruin our pre-wedding day.”

“Just stay clear of the ones where I’m heartless and you’re wallowing.”

He laughs, “That narrows the repertoire down to two songs, _ouch,_ ” she pinches him again, and this time is a little more forceful than the other, even though she is finally smiling too, “Why are you so violent today?”

“Oh, am I?” she kinks her eyebrow, and Archie feels his blood boil despite of himself, because she’s naked in his arms and on their bed and she’s looking at him _like that_ , and he ends up biting down his lower lip to hold a smile when she nudges his body with him and sits on top of him, both hands on his wrists, pinning his hands to the mattress, over his head, as if she was strong enough to hold him under, “You know I can be worse than this,” she says against his lips, grinding her hip against his, and Archie tries to keep from moaning.

“Ronnie,” he mutters as he tries to kiss her, but she pulls back, teeth pulling his lower lip along with her. She leaves his wrists, running her nails down his arms and then the side of his torso, and Archie throws his head back, slowly reaching towards her until she pins his arms to the bed again.

“Don’t touch me,” she says, _demands_ , and his arms stay over his head, and his skin is full of goosebumps from her nails scraping down the muscles of his abdomen. He holds the headboard instead, fingers curling around the cool metal frame, and if the way she’s moving her hips against his wasn’t getting him hard, the feel of her teeth biting down one of his nipples does the job, “You can watch.”

“ _Fuck_ , babe,” he hisses, trying to keep his eyes open to her as she sits back on him, her index finger sliding between his lips so he can suck it, and when she feels its moist enough, the finger swirls around the same nipple she’s bitten, and then runs down, and down until it reaches the parts where their bodies meet, and he hisses when he sees that she uses that same finger to touch herself on top of him, and he feels as she gets wet against his erection.

She moans loudly, tossing her head back, exposing her neck to him, and Archie holds the headboard so hard his knuckles are white. Veronica plants her hands on his chest for leverage and lifts her hip a little, sinking onto him without notice, hot and tight around him, fitting perfectly like she ever did.

Archie groans, and then lets go of the bed frame despite her warnings to pull her close to him while their hips rock together, and she doesn’t object, letting him kiss her with an open mouth. They move like that for some time, and when Veronica starts to shake, Archie pulls back, and before she can complain he flips her to her stomach, slipping inside her from behind, and the noise she makes is the one he wants to hear for the rest of his life.

He grabs one side of her hips and his other hand finds its way down the front of her body, so he can touch her between her legs, and she whimpers as he moves inside her faster and faster, her both hands holding the headboard now, her back glittering with sweat.

“Oh my God,” she says, trembling as she comes, and Archie pulls her by the waist until her back in against his stomach, and his face is hiding in her neck, and he sucks and nips at the skin, and she’s still pulsing around him when he bites down her shoulder and feels that he’s losing himself inside her one more time, “Keep going, babe. Don’t stop.”

“Yeah?” he breathes hot against her ear and tries his best to hold himself as he glides in and out of her, but he’s starting to lose control, “I love you,” he says, biting her earlobe, and she moans again, pushing him to move even harder, “I fucking love you.”

 

 

 

Veronica leaves at the crack of dawn when the office summons her for a sudden meeting – Archie is still drunk with sleep and endorphin when he hears she talking to someone on the phone, and then hears she complaining about a hickey _the day before my wedding, Archibald_ , and he can’t help but grin against the pillow, because he vaguely remembers the way she screamed his name the night before when he gave her said hickey.

She sounds pissed, but she still kisses the side of his head and whispers she loves him before leaving, and his heart feels light, bubbly, and it’s the kind of happiness that he could drown in.

He wishes he could find a way to thank her for everything. He’s written a million songs about her, about _them_ , he’s asked her to be his wife, to share his home and all his dreams, he plans on having her in sickness and health for the rest of their lives, but it’s still not enough.

He knows there are parts of Veronica that he can’t quite grasp, parts of her soul and of her troubled youth that are too dark, and she only shows him glimpses of it, from time to time, always so afraid to be weak and defenseless, but he wants to reach these too.

Archie opens his eyes and flirts with the idea for a moment until he reaches for his phone on the nightstand, and scrolls down his contact list. It’s barely seven, but that means he has less than twelve hours to make the impossible happen, so he has no time to lose.

He breathes in before pressing the green button to call Hiram Lodge.

 

 

 

Archie wears sunglasses in the subway on his way to the Financial District, but his red hair is a beacon and people still recognize him. He has to take a few selfies and give a few autographs before making his way up Fulton Street. He is used to that movement, that strange piece of fame, after all this time, even though he’s done with the concerts and intends to slowly retreat as a songwriter only, leaving his singing career behind. He’s young and people love his two albums, and all his new singles, but Archie thinks they sound better in someone else’s voices. He was never suited to the celebrity life, anyway.

He’s vaguely aware of a paparazzi following him but decides to ignore him and just focus on his most impending problem: meeting with Hiram Lodge for lunch in a fancy Marriott downtown, talking to him without wanting to murder him for breaking Veronica’s heart again and again, and the most difficult part: keeping this a secret from her.

Archie supposes he _should_ dodge the paparazzi, after all.

In the stupid attempt, he buys a non-official Yankees’ cap from a tourist stand and shoves it in his head to hide his hair from the burning sun. Everybody looks at him like he’s crazy, wearing a tie and sunglasses and a baseball cap, but the doorman in the Marriott welcomes him anyway, asking if he’s checking-in.

He looks around and there’s no sign of the paparazzi, so he takes off his hat and the shades, and informs that he’s meeting someone in the Bill’s Bar and Burger. The doorman leads him to it, and it doesn’t take long for Archie to find Hiram Lodge amongst the tables.

Taking a deep breath, Archie walks toward him. They had met for the last time almost a year ago when Archie decided that he was going to ask for Veronica’s hand even if it got him killed in the process – Fred Andrews would have never allowed him to marry someone without asking for her family’s permission, it wasn’t _right_ – and the feeling in the pit of his stomach was the same.

(Hiram Lodge had given him then a speech about responsibilities and how his _artist lifestyle_ would never be able to find his daughter’s spoiled _demands_ , and how he would never be able to take care of her. Archie couldn’t help but fight back and say that he had taken care of Veronica while Hiram was in prison, which was probably a stupid thing to say if he was trying to marry his daughter, but somehow it made Hiram look at him with a little more respect, and he’d said _okay, marry her then_.)

“Mr. Lodge,” he calls. Hiram gets up, ever the respectful gentleman, and reaches out give Archie a firm handshake, “Thank you for meeting me, sir.”

“Archie Andrews. I can’t say I’m happy to see you,” he lifts his eyebrows, and Archie scoffs, almost laughing. Both sit down and stare at each other, suits and ties matching, Archie’s new hat crumbled in one of his hands, “Didn’t take you for a Yankee’s fan.”

 _Didn’t take you for an asshole when I first met you, either,_ he thinks about saying, but then just smiles politely and leaves his hat on his lap, “Mr. Lodge, I don’t want to take too much of your time. We don’t even need to eat if you don’t want to.”

“That’s unfortunate, they have a great dry-aged burger in this joint. _Joe_ ,” he calls the waiter, who comes so fast some would think he was summoned by a king. Archie resists the urge of rolling his eyes, “Two dry-aged for me and my son-in-law. Can you believe my daughter is marrying a mediocre _musician_? You raise your kid with everything you have and look what happens. Bring us two beers, too.”

Joe leaves with the order so fast some would think he had a grenade around his neck, and Archie clears his throat, trying to focus on what he came to do, “So, Mr. Lodge. This is exactly why I asked you to meet me. I was wondering why you haven’t RSVP’d yet. The wedding is tomorrow.”

Hiram’s brows are drawn together, and Joe comes back with their beers before he can answer anything. He looks at Archie in a way he has always looked at Archie, a mixture of despising and _admiration_ , stunned over how this _boy_ could be so audacious, how he could look at his almighty being as an equal.

“Well,” he says once Joe has poured the beers into tall glasses and left. He raises his glass and quickly bumps it against Archie’s, who still hasn’t touched it, “I haven’t RSVP’d because I am not going.”

He says it so casually, like his only daughter’s wedding means _nothing,_ like it’s just another event in a list of the endless events a man like him is invited too, and Archie feels sick to his stomach, but swallows around the lump on his throat, and asks a simple question, “Why?”

Hiram scoffs, “Veronica knows very well I have disapproved every single decision she has made in the past decade. If she really wanted me in her life, she would be _by my side_ , running Lodge Industries with me, an Ivy League diploma on her wall. She’s exactly like her mother, that one. Proud, ungr–”

“It’s _her wedding day_ , for God’s sake,” Archie interrupts him, trying to control his voice, curling his hand into a fist, “It doesn’t matter where she is working or what is she doing, it’s her _wedding day_ , Mr. Lodge. And I know you think I’m scum and that I don’t deserve her, _I_ don’t think I deserve her, but she chose me. She said yes, she wants to be with me, and it’s my duty to make her as happy as possible, but I don’t think she can be happy if her own father can’t go to her wedding because he thinks her decisions revolve around him.”

Hiram rests the beer on the table and crosses his arms in front of his chest, brown eyes pierced on Archie’s face, overanalyzing him.

Archie sighs, “Veronica has suffered enough because of you and her mother, your _expectations_. It’s a daily battle for her to think she is enough for this world because you two always wanted more of her but couldn’t give her anything. I wasn’t there before –” he pauses, clenching his jaw as he thinks about the years they’ve spent apart, “I wasn’t there through the divorce, or the threats, or the fallout, and I can’t fix whatever happened then, but I am here now, and I’m going to be here forever. She’s your _only_ daughter, Mr. Lodge, and I know that she loves you and that she misses you. I also know for the life of me that _you_ love her. So why? Why are you doing this to her?”

Joe arrives with their burgers, but Archie’s eyes are stuck in Hiram’s, and none of them answer when the waiter asks if they want ketchup. He takes the hint, leaving them with their silent talk, and Archie knows he’s going to be the one to break it, knows he’s the one that’s not being fed with pride and bitterness.

“I’ve lost my father, Mr. Lodge. Six years ago. Six years and two weeks, to be exact. He tried to talk to me for weeks before he was gone, about something important, and I kept saying _later_ ,” Archie stops for a moment, because it will never not hurt to talk about this, “I kept saying that to him and to myself and the moment never came, I could never – I thought he was always going to be there. He would always wait for me to get over myself and I never did, and once I realized, he was gone,” he sighs, “You’re alive, Mr. Lodge. You can… You can walk her down the aisle, you can give her your blessing. I’ve lost my father, and he can’t be there, but _you_ can.”

He sees Hiram’s jaw tighten, and a vein in his forehead quivers as he stares at Archie, whose heart is beating fast. It doesn’t look like he is going to say anything, but at least he listened, Archie thinks.

Archie swallows hard, looks down at the beer and the burger, and thinks his stomach would never be able to handle any of it right now, so he just takes a deep breath and slides his chair back, getting up, “The rehearsal starts at six, dinner is at nine. I’ll make sure to save your seat at the parents’ table. I really hope to see you there, sir.”

 

 

 

Despite Archie’s efforts, Hiram doesn’t show at the rehearsal. Veronica walks down the aisle (a tape-market pathway with no decorations whatsoever) alone, holding just one plastic flower the wedding planner gives to her, and she’s wearing a simple strapless navy dress, but her hair is up in an intricate, quite Grecian up-do, with pearls around her neck, and Archie wonders if they have _really_ fixed his heart, because it’s beating so hard it can’t be normal.

“The priest will ask you to say your vows,” the ceremonialist tells them as they hold hands, staring at each other, and he can see Betty’s and Lauren’s eyes tearing up from their maid of honor and bridesmaid’s posts. He grins a little, thinking that tomorrow is going to be a sob fest, “And after you exchange the rings, he’ll give you the last blessings and pronounce you husband and wife.”

“And then I can kiss her?” Archie asks, probably smiling like a kid in a candy shop, but he can’t help – he _hasn’t_ kissed Veronica since they arrived, he hasn’t _really_ kissed her since last night, and it’s been already way too long. Everybody in the venue laughs, including Veronica, and he can feel Jughead rolling his eyes.

“Yes, Mr. Andrews, that’s when you can kiss her,” the woman says, smiling, and when Archie looks at Veronica she is kinking an eyebrow, the same way she did last night before climbing onto his lap and basically eating him alive. He grins, hopes that she doesn’t do that tomorrow because he doesn’t want to have impure thoughts in front of a priest – but right now, it’s okay, and he pulls her by the hand and kisses her hard, bending her backward, like in the movies.

There’s a mix of giggles, _awws_ and clapping, but there’s also Veronica’s arms around his neck, holding him so she doesn’t fall to the ground, and when she pulls apart their faces are close together, and when she smiles against his lips, it does feel a little like a movie script ending.

 

 

 

Their wedding venue still wasn’t decorated, but the restaurant Veronica has chosen for the dinner has probably never seen better days, and it gets Archie excited over how things are going to be in the next day. He didn’t do much or choose much – she’s had her wedding planned since she was eight, every detail from the flowers to the color of the bridesmaid’s dresses (emerald green) – but he knew she would do a great job and settled for choosing the cake and the songs that would be played.

The restaurant looks practically like a fancy uptown club with fairy lights hanging from the ceiling and little green bows tying up off-white napkins, and their initials, A&V, are everywhere he lays his eyes on. Veronica has changed her simple blue dress to a light grey, more complicated one; there’s a feathery pattern amongst the soft layers of silvery fabric, and the upper part is almost too revealing and pushing his self-control to its breaking point, but she looks like an angel or a fairy, and he can’t take his eyes off her or her red lips as she smiles to the guests.

They give their _thank-you_ presents to the bridesmaids and the groomsmen, Jughead gives an eye-tearing toast (a toast that should have been given by Fred Andrews, if he was there, and Archie is reminded by his absence every time he looks at his mother and her new partner, or when he spots Hiram’s empty seat at the parents’ table), and after they’ve eaten a three course meal it’s time for his performance. Veronica hasn’t yet chosen a song, and he has exactly five minutes to ask her again before his time runs out, but he can’t find her anywhere.

Once he’s asked all around and still can’t find her, he gives up ( _it’s probably something with the dress_ , Betty tells him), and joins Lauren and Bruce in a round of fireballs, asking _their_ opinion on which song he should sing, when the chatter in the room quiets and the lights fade, and his throat is still burning with the liquor when looks at the mounted stage where Veronica is glittering under a spotlight, holding his guitar on her lap.

“Okay,” she starts talking into the microphone, laughing a little with her face blushing beneath the makeup. Archie looks around and everybody – including Betty, his mother, and _Carl-what’s-his-face_ – is smiling like they were hoping for this exact moment, “Thank you, friends and family, for keeping my secret.”

Jughead makes a catcall sound. Archie feels his ears heat up as he stares at Veronica in awe, “What the…”

“Archie Andrews,” she goes on, a smile on her face, “I knew from the day I’ve heard you sing for the first time that you’d be a success, and of course I’ve only agreed to marry you because you’re famous,” there’s laughter all around, and the heat spreads to Archie’s cheeks, but he smiles too, “You kept asking me which song I wanted you to play tonight, and I thought really hard until it hit me – you’ve done that enough. You’ve been singing to me since we were stupid teenagers. You’ve been singing to me through sleepless nights, happy and sad days. Your voice always followed me everywhere I went, your words have reminded me of how much I –” she takes in a deep breath, her expression more serious, “So, tonight, the day before we get married, I wanted to do the same for you. I’m not good with words, not the way you are, so I’ve borrowed them from someone else. I’m not good with a guitar, either, but I thought I’d give it a go. This is for you, babe. Hope it can tell you things I sometimes can’t say.”

He vaguely recognizes the chords she starts playing with unskilled fingers, and the song starts slower than it probably would with someone who knew how to play, but then she opens her mouth and starts singing, and her voice is soft and perfect as it has always been, _“The day we met, frozen I held my breath. Right from the start, I knew that I’ve found a home to my heart.”_

There’s another round of _awws_ around him, _“Beats fast, colors and promises. How to be brave?”_ she misses a chord, and opens her eyes, biting her lip apologetically. Archie doesn’t remember how to breathe, and he is very aware of his vision blurring as she continues to sing, _“How can I love when I’m afraid to fall?”_

 _“But watching you stand alone all of my doubt suddenly goes away somehow,”_ she draws in a breath, and closes her eyes again before continuing, _“One step closer.”_

_“I have died every day waiting for you. Darling don’t be afraid, I have loved you for a thousand years, I’ll love you for a thousand more.”_

She’s grown little confident plucking chords, and her voice is louder now, but Archie can’t understand how no one is hearing the thunderous beat of his heart.

 _“And all along I believed I would find you,”_ this piece of lyrics tugs at Archie’s heartstrings, and he can’t help a tear from falling when he blinks, _“Time has brought your heart to me, I have loved you for a thousand years, I’ll love you for a thousand more.”_

She settles for a humming sound as the last chords reverberate through the room, and Archie gets up even before she finishes it, walking towards her. Veronica sets the guitar aside when she sees him coming to her direction and gets up as well. There’s a moment, a moment of stillness when they look at each other as if there was no one else in the room, and then he just holds her, just wraps her in his arms. Where she’s going to stay forever.

“I love you, Ronnie,” he whispers softly, tightening up his arms around her, hiding his face on her neck, feeling her soft skin under his lips, “I love you so much, babe.”

There are applause and quiet murmurs, and Archie and Veronica are both glassy-eyed when they release one another after a lingering moment. She smiles, and then laughs, holding his face on her hands as she tilts up her head to kiss him softly, probably leaving him with a red lipstick stain on his upper lip, and he turns his head to the tables, winking.

That’s when he sees that Hiram Lodge’s seat is no longer empty and that he’s there, slowly clapping with the rest of their friends and family. Archie’s big smile turns into a smaller one, and he nods at the man when their eyes meet. Hiram nods back. Veronica’s body stiffens in Archie’s embrace, and he knows she has seen her father, too.

“Daddy?” she asks quietly, her beam disappearing from her face, and Archie looks down at her, prompting her to look at him as well, “Archie, did you –”

“Yes,” he says, honestly. Veronica swallows hard, both hands on his arms as if she was trying to steady herself, and he knows that she’s surprised and probably still hurt, but he also knows that he’s done the right thing, “I love you,” he repeats, finding her lips one more time before freeing her from the embrace, “Go talk to your father.”

She takes a deep breath, “Babe.”

“Go,” he repeats, kissing her again, and one more time, “I love you.”   

She looks into his eyes, and he knows she would say _thank you_ if she could get around the lump in her throat and the uncertainty of her relationship with her father, but she gives him her little smile, his favorite one, the one that never fails to make him feel so in love with her, and it’s more than enough.

But then, before leaving the stage, she kisses him again, and the words she says against his mouth are those he once thought he would never hear she say.

“I love you too.”

 

 

 

_the end_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now it’s really over! :( I am sad, but I am also so happy about everything – this story, this characters and this relationship that never fails to make me believe in love. The last few days have been really difficult in real life, and this story has helped me go through this. I hope you all liked it, the response has always made me so happy. I am looking forward to your comments, asks, and everything else. Thank you!
> 
> A special thanks to my real life Lauren who has helped me through this all and beared with me while I was freaking out and fangirling and etc. You're my sunshine, dear.
> 
> Also, people have been asking me if I have plans to write another Varchie fanfic, and the answer is yes. It will happen and I will let you know. Keep an eye here or on tumblr ;)


End file.
